


Sunlight On A Broken Column

by tprillahfiction



Category: Star Trek 2009, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Forced Bonding, Horror, M/M, Pon Farr, Rape/Non-con - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-15
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-08 13:25:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/761824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tprillahfiction/pseuds/tprillahfiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spock and McCoy don't like each other much.  At the worst of times they argue, at the best of times they barely tolerate each other.  They compete for Jim Kirk's attention and friendship.  Sure there's some jealously there, but there's something about the science officer that makes McCoy terribly uneasy.  </p><p>Warning: forced bonding.  Pon-farr.  Non-con and dub-con.  Violence. Horror.  Alcoholism.  Drug use.  Phobias.</p><p>Spock/McCoy, Kirk/Spock, Kirk/McCoy, Kirk/Spock/McCoy, McCoy/Female.</p><p>Star Trek-Abrams Verse.  No STID spoilers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

McCoy glanced up from his microscope, yawning and stretching as the ship's bells chimed out the late hour. He'd finished that routine charting that had been piling up all over his desk, finally tackled those calibrations. He'd managed to get some personal research in his lab done and concentrate on writing that article for the Starfleet Lancet Medical Journal he'd been meaning to get to for months. The Enterprise was currently on a milk run for the next standard month and soon he'd need to get started on the crew's tri-yearly physicals. However, that craziness wasn't for another few days so he had been absolutely reveling in this stretch of quiet time. 

His stomach let him know it existed and had been neglected; loudly growling. He hadn't eaten since 12:45. Maybe he should comm Jim, see if he wanted to head on over to the officer's mess.

The doors suddenly swooshed open and Jim swanned in wearing a shit eating grin. "Bones! Dinner?"

"Damned creep, you read my mind. I'm fucking starving. Hang on a minute, I'll finish up here."

Jim nodded and made himself comfortable in the opposite chair. After a few moments of sitting quietly, he obviously grew bored and started in pawing through the slides in the box sitting on the table. "Safien Mud Paramecium?"

McCoy snatched the box away. "Careful, they're made of real glass. You'll break 'em."

"I'm being careful."

McCoy set the box down, gently, then squinted once again through the microscope. "Right. Just like you were careful on Celus Three."

"I didn't mean to fall off that cliff, Bones," Kirk half joked.

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Sure you didn't. Didn't mean to put me through thirteen hours of neurosurgery and make me sit by your bedside in ICU for a fucking week."

"I don't remember."

"Cause you were in a goddamned coma, that's why."

"Ah, Bones. You pulled me through, you always do." Jim leaned over and patted McCoy on the shoulder.

"Connors didn't mean to give himself a deep slice on the index finger, nearly bled out all over my lab table. Then I had to inoculate the fucking moron."

Jim picked up the box of slides again and Bones removed it from his grasp again. “Do you really think I became the youngest starship captain on purely my stunning good looks?"

"Well," McCoy began thoughtfully, till Jim punched him playfully on the arm. "Hey!"

"Admit it, Bones. You've had your own personal moments of idiocy that I had to rescue you from."

"Never."

"I seem to recall carrying your drunk ass back to the dorm whenever you were so wasted you couldn't even walk home, back at the academy."

"I don't know what the fuck you're talking about."

"Yes, you do. Remember me putting you to bed? Snuggling next to you? Staying the night to make sure you didn't drown in your own puke, then take care of your hungover, crying ass the next morning?"

"I don't cry, Jim. And I sure as shit don't snuggle, especially with you."

"Oh, my dear, Bones. I beg to differ with you."

"Oh, yeah? Remember me rescuing your sorry ass from the seediest bars in San Francisco almost every weekend after getting the living shit kicked out of you? Remember calling me at 4am? 'Bones...help me... I can't walk'."

"Never happened, Bones," Jim protested. "You're just pissed because I carried you like a fucking bride over the threshold."

"You're not strong enough to carry my ass."

"Wanna bet?"

"No."

"I fucking carried you, Bones."

"Your point, bein', Jim?"

"I'm just sayin' I love you. In my own little way." Jim reached over him and shut off the microscope. 

"The hell you do. The shit you put me through."

"Bones! Hurry up and finish!"

"Goddamnit, Jim, if the crew could only hear you whine right now. Just let me finish my notes, alright?"

"Thought you were starving, Bones?"

"I am, Jim. I am."

Jim leaned over to inspect McCoy's PADD. "You used the wrong 'there'."

"I did not."

"Did too."

McCoy quickly changed the spelling of the word on his PADD. "Happy now?"

"Like a pig in shit, Bones."

"That's my line, Jim." McCoy gave him a look but commenced shutting everything down.

Jim was now digging in a hidden pocket somewhere, or he was jacking off, one of the two, but McCoy didn’t think his best friend, the captain of the flagship of the fleet, would do something unseemly like that in the middle of a science lab. Or maybe the idiot would. At any rate, Jim finally pulled out whatever he was looking for and unwrapped it. It was what appeared to be simple aluminum foil. Jim put the object into his mouth. “Guess what I have?”

“If it ain’t some new alien STD I need to treat then I don’t give two rats fornicating in a burlap sack.”

“Oh, yes you do,” Jim said, gloating like a fool.

“Fine. What is it?"

"Gum. Chewing gum. Want some?”

"No, Jim."

"Why not?”

“Cause I’m a doctor, not a Holstein chewing her goddamned cud.”

Jim grinned. “Ah, Bones. You made a cow reference, just for me.”

“Well, that’s all you got in that shit-hole state, Iowa, is fucking cows.”

“It ain't a shit-hole and we don’t fuck cows in Iowa.” McCoy rolled his eyes at the stupid joke. Jim thrust the gum at McCoy again. “Have some.”

“No.”

“Come on, it’s the good stuff. Real gum not the synthetic shit. Got it on Starbase Six. Have some."

“What’s with all the peer pressure?”

“Just don’t want to be alone in my gum chewing. Come on!”

Bones arched his left eyebrow. “Why? Do I need some?”

"You look like Spock when you do that."

"I'm gonna throw you outta here if you insult me."

"You throw me out and then you don't get any gum."

"I said, don't want any."

Jim held out a new piece of gum...in his teeth. "Come and get it, Bones," he teased, sounding slightly slurred because he had to hold his teeth together.

"How old are you anyways, Jim, eight? You look like a goddamned ancient 'Pez dispenser'."

Jim kept on holding it in his teeth and waggling his eyebrows. McCoy glared for a few moments, then broke down into a smile, he couldn’t help it. He hesitated for a moment but gave in to Jim's silly game, leaning over and pulling it out with his own teeth. It was good, that traditional bubblegum flavoring he hadn't had since childhood.

"Good, isn't it, Bones?"

"Uh, huh."

“Just don’t swallow it, stays in your stomach for seven years.”

“Jim, it doesn’t stay in your goddamned stomach for seven years. That’s just an old wives tale.”

“What happens to it?”

“It comes out undigested in your--you’re fucking with me aren’t you?”

Jim nearly fell over with laughter. Bones rolled his eyes but found himself blowing out a bubble, just like he did as a kid. Jim reached over and popped it. 

Suddenly there was the annoying sound of a throat being cleared, very reproachfully. Oh, Jesus H. Christ. 

McCoy turned around to find the dour figure of Commander Spock standing the fucking doorway. He eyed the pointy eared menace while still chewing (and popping his gum and deliberately attempting to be very, very annoying and by the look in those dark eyes, Spock was very aware it was intentional). "Well well, look who just came to the party."

Spock raised an eyebrow in a perfect imitation of McCoy just a few moments earlier. "I had requested the captain's wherabouts via computer, it failed to inform me you and he were rather unprofessionally engaged."

Kirk laughed but McCoy found himself bristling at the Vulcan's emphasis on the word 'unprofessionally' and it took everything he had to resist the urge to flip him off. "It's after hours and we're off duty, Mr. Spock. We can do what we goddamned like."

"Within reason," Jim said.

"So, Doctor, naturally in your off duty hours you decided to entertain yourself by..." He made a stupid, dismissive hand motion towards McCoy's mouth.

"Chewing gum, Mr. Spock. I wouldn't expect walking computers to know what chewing gum is."

"I do not believe I am missing much. Oddly enough the activity reminds me of an Earth bovine."

Before McCoy could give him a piece of his mind, the Vulcan turned to Jim, giving that not quite smile he always gave the captain. Smug little flirtatious smirk or not-smirk, or however you wanted to label it. 

Jim appeared to eat up the attention as usual. "Would you like some gum, Mr. Spock?”

"No thank you, Captain."

Jim actually pouted and McCoy muttered: “Stays in a Vulcan’s stomach for seven years, most likely.” Louder he said: "Shouldn't you be on watch?" 

"Negative. It is three point two three seven minutes past 20:00," Spock replied.

"Just say: 'twenty oh four', please. Round up...like a normal person, Mr. Spock."

"A 'normal person'? Ah, you mean reporting the ship's time with a great deal of inaccuracy. Which is a fault you yourself possess with your many duties," Spock said.

"It is pedantic to bore someone with unnecessary detail such as a few microseconds here and there when relating the ship's time to another crewman in my off duty hours!"

"As a physician it would be in your best interest to be--"

"Gentlemen," Jim warned.

Bones cleared his throat and made a half hearted attempt to be cordial. "So, uh, Mr. Spock. What brings you by MY lab at this hour?"

"I would like to offer up a game of chess with the captain."

McCoy folded his arms and shook his head. “Actually, Jim and I were about to head over to the officer's mess to--"

"That sounds great, Mr. Spock," Jim said, cutting McCoy off. "Where would you like to play?"

"My quarters?"

"Good, lets go."

“Now, hold on just a goddamned minute," McCoy said. "What about supper, Jim?”

“Oh...I’m not really that hungry, Bones.”

“No, no, no. The hell you weren’t. You were starving just a minute ago.”

“That was you. Seriously, not that hungry."

"No, no, no. You haven't eaten, Jim!"

"I'll order something from Spock's quarters. Don’t you have work to finish, Bones?”

"After you, Jim," Spock said.

"Bye, Bones!" Jim headed towards the doors.

The lift doors shut behind Jim and Spock.

"Well, I'll be goddamned. I can't believe it. Thanks a hell of lot, asshole!" McCoy seethed in their wake. He threw a stylus at the doors.

* 

He'd noticed Lieutenant Smith suddenly appearing everywhere in his sight. The Xenobiology junior had the...according to ship's scuttlebutt...hots for him. Yes, the Lieutenant was attractive, don't get him wrong, he'd noticed alright. Hourglass figure, beautiful eyes, brown hair, but he simply wasn't interested and had therefore always remained aloof. That didn't stop her from strolling past him in the corridor every morning calling out a cheery "Hi" before he'd even had his morning coffee. What kind of a goddamned nut did that? 

Tonight she'd ran into him in the officer's mess again and since he was all alone (damned Spock) she asked if she could sit with him and eat. Admittedly he wasn't much company for her, scowling into his coffee. 

She got up to leave after a half hour and he felt bad about his rude, grumpy behavior and offered to walk her back to her quarters. 

But no she hadn't invited him in (maybe 'cause he'd been an asshole) but he was relieved and didn't invite himself in and politely had left her and went back to his own cabin. God... she was stunning. Maybe he should have invited himself in, kissed her at least, something. Spending the night with her would have been perfect to get his mind off...to get his mind off of things and let off some steam but...no maybe it would have just complicated things, just ended badly and then they'd have to see each other every day. 

At least she wasn't wearing a red uniform. 

He went back to his quarters and sulked some more and took a shower and went to bed.

*

"Oh. Hi, Jim," he said, a little more coolly than intended, as he entered turbo lift three.

"Long time no see, Bones! You've been holed up in med-bay for days!"

That was no joke, it was truth. He slumped against the wall of the lift, studying his haggard reflection in the shiny metal of the doors. The lights of the passing decks cast a series of strange illuminations of the bags under his eyes. "Yeah...I’ve been scrambling to finish up the last of those tri-annuals."

"Don't look at me like that. I already had mine,” Jim reminded him.

“Oh, right. About that, Jim,” he said out of the side of his mouth. “I need to re-do your exam. The whole thing. Telemetry was off.”

“What? That can't be right.”

“Way off, Jim. Something amiss with the calibrations. Gonna have to repeat all the tests.”

“They hurt like hell."

"I know...sorry..." He shrugged apologetically at the captain.

"Who was responsible for calibrating the equipment?”

Before things went too far, he finally glanced over at the captain and smiled. “I’m just fucking with you, Jim.”

"I don't have to repeat it?"

"No."

"Asshole," Jim said. "I should place your ass on report."

"What...scaring the shit outta the captain?" He folded his arms and laughed, a rare hearty guffah. "I cannot believe you're terrified of a little eeny meeny little physical."

"Anyone in their right mind would avoid you and your damned physicals."

“Serves you right, you bastard. Ditching me for Spock the other night, again. Why do you make me head to the mess alone, night after night, lately?”

"I don't make you do, shit, Bones. Time to make some new friends, maybe. I heard you and Lieutenant Smith have been getting cozy with each other."

"Go to hell, Jim." 

Jim studied the scowl on McCoy's for a few moments before he remarked: “Don't tell me you're really pissed off about me playing chess with Spock?”

“No,” Bones lied. He folded his arms casually as he glanced over, catching sight of the bottle of Saurian Brandy under Jim's arm. It looked really inviting. It was the good stuff. God, he could do with a drink. "Back to Spock's cabin, I see? You're coming prepared."

Jim hid the brandy behind his back. "Sorry. Wasn't expecting to run into you in the lift."

A small cough escaped McCoy's lips as he fidgeted. "S'alright. I just... didn't know Spock imbibed." A glass of Brandy sounded really good, glass of Bourbon, or wine or anything--

"You don't know much about him, Bones, do you."

He had to admit Jim was correct. He didn't know the first officer very well even though they'd now been serving together for six months. Honestly, it wasn't that easy to socialize with the bastard. Not that he'd really tried. Every encounter between them was awkward at best and at worst it would erupt into a full blown argument. One time it turned into a screaming match (him doing the red-faced screaming, not Spock.) It was apparent the Vulcan had little to no respect for him and that was fine by him but the implication was always ever present in the hobgoblin's demeanor. 

He tried not to let the first officer get under his skin and lately they'd tolerated each other, after agreeing to a truce for Jim, but frankly, he couldn't stand the green-blooded menace. Sometimes, when he could be bothered, it might be fun to goad the pointy eared jerk but usually he didn't enjoy the constant battle of wits with this guy. 

He couldn't understand Jim wanting to keep company with him. The hobgoblin had usually only hung around Lieutenant Uhura (when they were together) however that relationship seemed to be toast, according to ship's scuttlebutt. That wasn't at all surprising. Uhura was a sweet, beautiful young lady, a real class act whereas Spock was proving himself over and over again to be an arrogant, prissy, pointy eared asshole. She was smart to be rid of him. Now the hobgoblin followed Jim around like a goddamned puppy dog. Maybe Jim felt a little sorry for Spock. Maybe nobody else could stand the bastard and Jim knew it. That must be it. The Vulcan/Captain alliance kind of encroached on the CMO/CO socializing time but Bones was going to be the better man and not complain about it. 

So the captain was allowed to spend time with whomever he pleased. Just...why did it have to be Spock?

Jim explained: "The brandy's for me. Spock doesn't drink."

"Well, isn't that a barrel of fun. Him sittin' there watching you get wasted. He fixin' to seduce you or somethin'?" he drawled out.

Jim rolled his eyes. "Seduce me. Wouldn't you like to watch."

"Not if my goddamned life depended on it, Jim."

Jim snorted. “It might someday, you never know.”

“God, I hope not.”

Jim shook his head. “Long night of chess ahead of us. I thought I'd bring along some refreshments. I find his bar seriously lacking, actually nonexistent. He'll have his spicy Vulcan tea and I'll have this."

"Sounds ‘fascinating’. Chess all night."

"Lightening 3-D chess, to be precise. That's how ruthless we are. Wanna come?"

"You know I don't." McCoy gave the stink-eye to Jim's suggestive wink. He could think of a hundred better things to do than play third wheel while the captain and his pointy eared first officer flirted with each other and call it 'playing chess': 'Oh, you played so well, Mr. Spock’. ‘Oh no, quite the contrary, Captain, it was you.’ Not to mention staring at the bottle of Saurian Brandy and Jim being the only one imbibing.

"Just thought I'd be polite. I wouldn't drink if you were there. Seriously. I'd be happy with tea."

"It's fine. Not interested. Play and drink away."

"Heard you slept with Lieutenant Smith."

"The hell I have. And even if I had, it's nobody's goddamned business." To change the subject, he asked: "You ever win that pointy eared bastard?"

"A couple times. But, I can tell he doesn't really...uh...appreciate it."

He didn't like the way Jim hesitated when he'd said that. On second thought perhaps he should chaperone Jim just in case. He’d seen what Spock is capable of when he 'didn't appreciate something'. "Are you sure he's safe to hang around with?"

"Of course. Don't be ridiculous."

"I wouldn't play chess with a guy who'd once strangled me."

"Tried to strangle--" Jim corrected.

"And beat the living tar outta me. If I'd ever tried that with you, even though a few times I've been tempted to, I'd have been bounced out of Star Fleet on my ass. Not to mention marooning you on some fucking snowy planet."

"He didn't maroon me…the other Spock was there…and Scotty too. We wouldn't have Scotty if it weren't for him."

"Spock's a violent bastard and you're making excuses for him. I can't believe it!"

"Come on. The violence was only due to extenuating circumstances, Bones. He'd just snapped. Poor guy had just lost his mother, his home planet.”

"It's never okay. Never. How do we know his temper tantrum won't happen again?"

"I goaded him into it, remember? Plus he's fine now, calm."

"Yeah, hobgoblin seems calm now, but only on the surface. You hear me, Jim?"

"Just like you're calm on the surface?" Jim said, sarcastically.

"At least I don't have superhuman strength like he does. There's a tug of war with that guy, a hurricane going on under the skin. Like any minute he'll snap again. Maybe he won't take too kindly at you winning too many chess matches. Then what?" He emphasized his point by making a slicing motion under his throat with the accompanying sound effect. The whole bridge crew had witnessed Spock's outburst and word had spread throughout ship like wildfire.

"Stop being so over dramatic."

"Jim," he warned in all seriousness.

"Don't worry. Spock's been kicking my ass the last couple times we've played. I don't think I have a chance in hell tonight of winning. He's getting tougher."

"Humph. Kicking your ass. Hopefully not literally. Promise me you'll be careful."

"You know, Bones, you're like a goddamned mother hen, sometimes."

"I'm not apologizing for that. Just doing my goddamned job."

The lift carried on in silence for a few moments, until: “Bones?”

“Yeah, Jim?”

“You look a lot better, since you quit drinking. I mean that.”

Bones waved him off. "And then here you go shoving that fucking brandy bottle at me.”

Jim hid it behind his back again.

* 

"Checkmate." Spock calmly knocked over the white king with his black queen.

"Jesus Christ, Spock." Jim picked up the pieces off the 3-D chessboard and leaned over to reset the chrono. "You had me in five moves. You're playing like... an animal!" He took a long, desperate, almost shaky sip of his brandy. He found his heart pounding in his chest and he couldn't figure out why.

"An animal? Not at all, Jim. A purely logical strategy."

"That strategy didn't feel very logical to me."

"Indeed?"

"Felt like an...attack. You were all over me." Jim met Spock's dark eyes, glinting with humor. He finally softened, calmed down and grinned back. "Well, it's early. I'm determined to win at least once tonight before I leave."

Spock trailed a long finger down the curve of metal on the chess board. Jim's eyes followed, entranced at the movement. "In that case, I shall endeavor to…counteract that."

"Oh? Don't want me to go?”

Spock reset the board and refrained from comment.

 

* 

McCoy entered his office the next morning to find Jim already standing there, waiting, looking like something the cat drug in. "No bruises on you," he noted, studying Jim's face. "You must not have won."

"Shut up and give me a hangover hypo, Bones," Jim whispered.

"That bad, huh? You usually avoid my potions." He stalked over to the dispensary with Kirk hot on his heels. "What if I don't want to give it to you? Maybe I should confine you to quarters on my medical order, so you can sleep it off like they used to have to do in the olden days. You look like you haven't been to bed all night." He slammed the hypo into his captain's arm.

"Ow! Son of a bitch!"

"That's what you get. Now get outta my med-bay, Captain sir."

* 

Next morning, McCoy found himself matching strides with none other than the pointy-eared hobgoblin himself. The overgrown elf always possessed a smooth, purposeful glide down the corridors that in weaker moments he might have found himself a little envious of. Damned Vulcan hunched over too much, though. Needed to stand up straight. "Well, good morning to you, Mr. Spock."

"Good morning, Dr. McCoy," Spock offered up, as formal and polite and icy as the doctor's greeting had been.

They strolled onward without speaking till they hit the foyer of the A Turbo-lift towards the upper levels. "Are you going my way, Commander?"

"It would appear so." They entered the lift. "Bridge," Spock said. 

McCoy grimaced as the lift slid into service. The Vulcan's attitude remained haughty as always. Just spending a few moments with this guy felt excruciating. "You look a little haggard," McCoy said, keeping his tone conversational and light. "I see some dark circles under your eyes. Did your chess match with the captain run late again, last night?"

Spock's jaw tightened a fraction at that. "There are no dark circles under my eyes," he said tightly.

"Oh, really. By the way, Mr. Spock," McCoy said, in a now deliberate annoying, slightly sing-songy, cheerful voice, knowing he sounded like an jerk but he didn't care. "I'm so glad I have you here…captive… because…" McCoy held up the PADD he had tucked under his arm. With a grandiose amount of throat clearing he perused through his list. "It appears you're due for a complete and exhaustive tri-monthly physical exam. In fact, you're my very last victim, how about that?"

The large, almond shaped dark eyes appear to register panic for a brief moment before becoming composed once more. "I see."

"You know, Mr. Spock, one might think you had been avoiding me lately…almost because you sensed it was physical time. Almost like an Earth gazelle sensing a tiger approaching the watering hole. And I do mean, gazelle. You appear to be seriously underweight."

"I am not underweight. If you believe I avoid you, it is simply due to your own personal paranoia. I resent the comparison to an Earth animal by a medical officer little more qualified than a 'witch doctor'."

"Personal paranoia? Ooh. Testy." He ignored that 'witch doctor' comment and he hated how he became around this Vulcan, but this jerk brought out the worst in him.

"I am well aware that it is the scheduled time for physicals. I have been busy with my duties. Besides, avoidance of the inevitable would be illogical."

"And heaven forbid you do anything…illogical."

"I am certain you shall be prepared to violate me with your beads and rattles."

McCoy smirked evilly. "I'll have the biggest ones ready, just for you. How does tomorrow sound?" He tapped on his PADD. "07:00?"

"It sounds as if I do not have much of a choice, Doctor."

"I knew we understood each other," McCoy said smugly, but couldn't help but shudder at the chilling look Spock threw him right before the doors opened. 

Pure, unadulterated hatred.

\----

From the lift, Spock headed directly to his station.

He relieved the night-watch on duty, half-listening to the young lieutenant's updates on the science-library station and it's necessary calibrations. The main focus of his attention proved to be elsewhere.

It was apparent that the Chief Medical Officer's sole purpose of reporting on the bridge had been to gravitate towards the captain's chair... to socialize. This was becoming a habit of McCoy's. Was it really necessary for the Chief Medical Officer's constant presence on the bridge? Surely a doctor's duty was better served down in medical bay where one belongs.

Dr. McCoy and the captain whispered together as they often did, of exactly what, Spock could not fathom. He should be able to hear them but he could not and it was frankly…irritating. The ambient noise was simply too loud on the bridge, he being a fair distance from them, and the two appeared to be deliberately keeping their voices low, their heads coming together close to communicate.

Spock had observed with other humans, that this was not unusual for close friends as the doctor and the captain. Their body language was unmistakably intimate yet perhaps platonic.

It was common knowledge that the two men had shared dorm quarters at the academy. Spock had not been required to share, the lingo being: 'having a room-mate', due to his status as an exemplary student, an ambassador's son and the Vulcan special need for privacy. Spock had always wavered between the thought of sharing an abode to be a horrible imposition thrust upon cadets but yet it appeared to be a cure for loneliness. Not that Spock had ever 'felt' lonely. Well, perhaps he might have. It did seem enticing to have someone to 'come home to'.

He and Nyota, the communications head lieutenant, seated a mere meter away from himself, had been involved in a 'romantic relationship' at the academy as everyone aboard ship had known. The relationship itself was satisfying, Uhura being extremely intelligent, at the top of her field and a genius. Physically she was more than simply attractive, she was as near to physical perfection as he had ever witnessed on any human.

He was an instructor and she his student in the biophysics survey course when they had become involved. One night, studying late in the library, an invitation for tea to his apartment. Things happened and he was glad that it did. However, the relationship had made Uhura slightly uncomfortable due to the illicitness of their pairing. 

Student Teacher sexual relationships had not been a problem on Vulcan, in fact they were rather common, but it was outlawed at Starfleet academy, due to fears of preferential treatment. While he had been careful to avoid any such nepotism in his actions, there was always the constant threat of censure from Starfleet Command.

Nyota had been an amazing comfort to him at the time of his mother's death. Shortly after, however, they had both agreed that starship service did not mesh well with personal entanglements. Rather, Nyota had decided and he did not wish to make her unhappy.

Spock had felt regret for it to end, but as Nyota had said, it was all for the best.

They had never lived together, had never even considered it. Even without the illicitness of their relationship, they both would have deemed sharing quarters highly improper outside of a marriage. But, would they have been closer to one another, like the captain and McCoy, if they had?

A loud chuckle emanated from the vicinity of the captain’s chair. Spock rotated around in his seat. The doctor met his glance with a challenging eyebrow smirking most disrespectfully before turning back to the captain.

What James T. Kirk saw in the doctor's company was beyond Spock's comprehension.

Their behavior, their easy casualness and constant violation of the other's personal space should be none of his concern, but he could not help but feel a tightening in his abdomen.

He glanced down at his trembling hands.

* 

Kirk exited the shower in his quarters, whistling, clad only in a towel. He noticed the chrono blinking 00:00 in bright red.

"Dammit.” He flipped the intercom switch. "Maintenance."

"Maintenance. Chief Dowling here, sir."

"I've got a faulty chrono that needs repairing. Not ASAP, but when you get a chance."

"Acknowledged, Captain. I'll get on that right away."

"Kirk out."

The ships bells announced the time: 20:00. He'd better hurry or he'd be late for the chess match.

He was pulling on a pair of clean underwear when the bosun's whistle sounded. "Spock to Captain Kirk."

"Spock give me three minutes. I'll be there--"

"Captain," Spock interrupted him. Kirk swore he could see the first officer gulp. "I regret..." Spock hesitated. The Vulcan had almost a lost, faraway look to him in the small viewer. "I regret that I will be unable to entertain you this evening. Perhaps some other time."

"What? Oh." Jim restrained himself from sounding too disappointed but he had been looking forward to this all shift. He had won three lightening rounds last night and due to his extremely competitive nature was looking forward to some more. "You sure?"

"Affirmative." Spock's hands were noticeably shaking. The first officer appeared to realize that Jim could see this through the viewer, so he quickly hid them from view.

"Spock, you don't look well. You're pale. Maybe I should send Dr. McCoy."

"I am alright, Jim. I am simply…quite fatigued this evening."

"Alright. Some other time, then. Get some rest. That's an order."

Spock signed off without another word.

* 

McCoy completed his tenth lap around the track before grinding to a halt, panting heavily. Since Jim was spending most of his free time lately with that goddamned first officer of his, he found that he now had ample opportunity in his off duty hours to hit the gym. He supposed it was much healthier in the long run, pardon the pun.

He pulled off his tee-shirt, stretching his arms. He bent over to touch his ankles until he heard a familiar wolf whistle behind him. He straightened up quickly, turning around. "Jackass."

Jim Kirk came up wearing the tiniest red gym shorts possible and nothing else. "Figured you'd be here." McCoy eyed the shorts, raising an eyebrow. "What are you looking at, Bones?" He turned around. "You checking out my ass?"

McCoy blushed and flicked his gaze up. "Where's your new best friend?"

"Very funny Bones. Spock's… 'quite fatigued' this evening."

"It's about fucking time that green blooded idiot got some sleep. Maybe Vulcan's can only handle so much chess before they go nuts."

"You think I broke my first officer?"

"I dunno." McCoy scratched the stubble peppering his cheek. "He didn't eat any dinner tonight."

“How do you know?”

“Because I know everything that happens aboard this ship.”

“Everything?”

McCoy scowled. “Medically. I better not have an ill Vulcan on my hands. Well, I'll find out soon enough if there's anything physically wrong with him."

"I'm sure he's fine, Bones. Vulcans are allowed to turn in early without any dinner if they want."

"If you say so."

"Want to wrestle?" Jim asked.

"No Jim. I just fucking jogged twelve kilometers around the track!"

"Alright, suit yourself. I'm off to shower."

"Okay, fine. We’ll wrestle." They headed over to the area of the gym where the mats were lying on the deck, grappled for a few moments, until suddenly Kirk flipped McCoy onto his back, pinning him. 

Jim leaned over, held the struggling McCoy's wrists down. “You can’t move, Bones.”

“No shit. You must’ve gained some weight. I need to put your ass on a diet.” 

The captain snickered as he put his face close to the doctor's mouth. "Damn...I could kiss you, right now in front of everybody in this gym if I wanted to."

“You do and you’ll have a broken jaw right in front of everybody in this gym."

"Aw, Bones, you wouldn’t do that to me. You’d just have to repair it.”

\---

Spock, on the other side of the gym, spied McCoy, clad only in green gym shorts, a sheen of perspiration covering the doctor's smooth, bare chest. And now...a writhing, sweaty McCoy held down firmly underneath Captain Kirk. Kirk then leaned over a little too close to the doctor's face.

Of course Kirk would have the upper hand with his extremely muscular body. But what was he to do? Engage in sexual activity...with the CMO?

The captain was also clad only in the barest of shorts, revealing his fit, extremely muscular body. Spock had often witnessed the man in this state, parading around in the common areas in next to nothing, truly he had little to no modesty. 

Dr. McCoy, however, had never appeared like this, so scantily dressed, or if he had Spock had never paid the doctor's also quite fit physique much mind. Till now. 

Even from this distance, he could smell their combined musk.

He turned away.

\---

McCoy suddenly flipped the both of them over, then straddled Jim Kirk by the waist. "Ah ha," he said, triumphantly. "Fucker."

"I let you win," Kirk panted out.

McCoy suddenly looked up then slid off and onto the padded mat. Jim lunged for him but he held up his hand. "Wasn't that Spock over there, watching us?"

"Where?"

"He's gone, now." McCoy pointed over to a far corner of the gym.

"Computer," Jim said. "Locate Commander Spock."

"Commander Spock is in his quarters."

"See Bones? He's resting like he said he was."

"Could have sworn that was Spock over there."

"Well it wasn't, okay? Relax, he's resting like I ordered him to."

"Alright. Fine. If you say so."

"The computer said so."

"I heard it."

"You don't sound convinced, Bones."

McCoy shook his head. "It's fine, Jim."

"You know," Jim said as they both got to their feet. "Spock was in a weird mood tonight. Seemed like he was upset about something. Maybe…I should check on him."

"I'll find out what's up with the idiot, tomorrow in the physical. Just let him get his beauty sleep.”

*

He sped up the stroke around his cock. Jim...oh Jim... was writhing underneath him. "Hmmm...you feel so good." He groaned at the welcoming tightness around his shaft.

Suddenly the scene changed. Spock (Spock?) had stealthy entered the cabin, sliding through the doors like a goddamned panther. The Vulcan pushed Jim against the bulkhead and took him possessively from behind. 

Jesus...He watched the two of them, simply being the voyeur. Watching as Spock now fucked Jim. Spock? Hard and fast. Like an animal. He found he couldn’t move... couldn't do a damned thing about it. It terrified him and excited him at the same time. He looked on horrified yet mesmerized as the Vulcan cock slid in and out--disappearing and reappearing--of the abused, stretched, reddened anus. Jim cried out: ‘Oh God, Spock, fuck me. Like that, just like that. Oh yes, just like that!’

He gripped his cock even harder, stroking it and cried out as orgasm hit him hard, gasping as white ribbons of semen shot from his cock over his hand and onto his belly.

He laid there panting on his bunk for a few moments. Alone.

After climax there was always the depression that hit him. This fantasy was a poor substitute for the real thing.

He had to admit he fantasized about Jim, often. Why? He didn’t know. If Jim offered, would he? Maybe. Maybe not. Well, alright, he found the guy a little attractive, perhaps. Wouldn't say he was…in love with Jim or anything.

He hadn't been interested in anyone at all...like that...hadn’t slept with ANYONE, since Jocelyn and that debacle. Fantasizing or even thinking about Joss was simply depressing...yes, he missed her so fucking much... maybe it was easier, better this way, to jack off thinking about his best friend since the first year of the academy. 

Jim certainly flirted with him like crazy but Jim flirted with everybody. He did know everything about the kid. Had seen everything. There were few secrets between them. He'd say there was none but this was a big secret, wasn't it? He knew Jim's smell like it was his own, right after he'd gotten out of the shower. Wouldn't say he loved that smell but…

He remembered the first time he'd done it...jacking off thinking about Jim. The idiot had left the dorm for a date, wearing some tight jeans that left little to the imagination and just gotten out of the bathroom. Jim had hugged him goodbye and somehow it had aroused him. Stupid, but he couldn't help but jerk off right over the toilet after Jim had gone. That had certainly freaked him out but he got an intense orgasm that first time, so he kept it up through the years.

Maybe now that they were stationed on the Enterprise he might have missed sharing quarters, but he wasn't going to be the first to admit it, so this was a sort of…calming ritual. It was always so damned quiet in his own cabin late at night after listening to Jim’s snoring for three years.

So, it was either this or drinking himself into a stupor every night and now that he stopped drinking jacking off looked better and better. Masturbation was a healthy activity and nobody would ever know who he was thinking about… so there was no harm in it, was there? 

As to why he was now including the pointy eared first officer in the little fantasy--what the hell was the matter with him?

He released his softening dick, wiping his hand on the towel he'd placed nearby. Time for a long ass shower, bordering on violating ship's rationing regulations.

He yawned and glanced over at his chrono…it was blinking 00:00 in bright red. 

A spike of fear formed in his chest.

Yes, he had phobias. Goddamn it. He was known for them. There was his now legendary fear of the transporter and that Aviaphobia. Additionally, he had a fear of the color red, known as Ereuthophobia. 

In his home in Georgia he could not stand owning any technology with red lights, such as an alarm, or clock. No red decorations, even red clothing bothered him. Yes, that used to drive Joss crazy.

Of course, as a physician, he obviously saw red all the time in the form of blood. Monitors blinked red whenever there was danger. However, he was not afraid of blood itself, nor of operating.

He managed Starfleet with it's numerous red lights. He'd gone through conditioning so it wasn't that big a deal he could manage seeing blinking red lights, just like using the transporter.

Obviously it hadn't gone entirely away, because he still got that irrational spike of fear. 

He reminded himself that his chrono wasn't at all dangerous, simply a malfunction in the circuits. 

He got up, washed his hands, began cleaning up and hit his comm switch on audio only: "McCoy to Maintenance."

"Maintenance, Chief Dowling here, Dr. McCoy."

"I have a faulty chrono. Keeps blinking double zeros."

"Oh, must be a deck-wide malfunction. Captain Kirk just called me with the same complaint."

"Oh. Alright. Don't need to fix it ASAP, just--"

Another call suddenly broke in: "Medbay to Dr. McCoy."

Shit. "What is it?"

"Doctor, sorry to wake you but your immediate presence is required. Medical emergency."

Chapel fed him the patient's vitals as he finished cleaning up, wiping his belly, yanking on his underwear and trousers as he listened. "On my way. Have him prepped by the time I get there, three minutes! McCoy out."

The shower was now going to have to wait till he returned. Perhaps next time he'd be smart and kill two birds with one stone and jerk off in the shower.

He exited his quarters, jogged to the nearest lift, lunging in. His cabin used to be on the same level as medical, level 7, when he was a junior member of staff. Now he was on 5, the stupidest location for the Chief Medical Officer. Now he had to sprint to emergencies just like this.

Just as the lift was about to depart, Spock appeared out of nowhere. The doors delayed a few seconds to admit him, but he seemed to be taking his sweet fucking time.

"Hurry up and get on if your getting on, dammit!” McCoy snapped. “I’m responding to an emergency call."

"Certainly, Doctor." Spock stood, hands behind his back, staring straight ahead. 

"Thought you were sleeping?" McCoy wondered.

"I was. I am now rested." 

"Your scheduled physical is tomorrow morning, bright and early. Don't be late."

Spock gazed into his eyes, an oddly piercing stare. Those dark orbs made McCoy shudder in spite of himself as they appeared to see straight into his very soul. Suddenly the lift felt very cramped inside. "I know," Spock replied, tightly.

McCoy glanced down at the Vulcan's slender hands alternately clenching and un-clenching, appearing almost agitated in demeanor. "Everything alright, Mr. Spock?"

"Everything is fine."

"Good. See you tomorrow." Even if he hadn’t been on his way to an emergency, deck 7 couldn’t come soon enough. As soon as the doors opened he shot out of there.

\--

Spock sniffed the air in the turbolift as soon as the doctor departed.

The human's scent smelled strongly of sex, or at least recent ejaculation.

Had he been with the captain? His mind harkened back to the wrestling in the gym, Kirk pinning the doctor underneath him, forcing him to his will. Perhaps that had been the precursor to a coupling between the two.

It was not safe for the doctor to walk around in that state.

Not at all.

________________  
on to chapter 2


	2. Chapter 2

"This is a physical exam, not a party. You can't be fashionably late. It doesn't work like that." McCoy stood in med-bay, hands on hips, fuming and tapping his foot as the goddamned pointy eared menace nonchalantly glided in fifteen fucking minutes behind schedule.

Spock said nothing in response. Just...stood there like a jerk.

"Taking a vow of silence today?" McCoy gritted his teeth at the blatant disrespect, the Vulcan's refusal to even grant the CMO any explanation whatsoever, didn't even-- fucking asshole, should punch the prick's lights out--he shook his head, attempting to erase those thoughts bombarding because if they kept up they'd drift down to his mouth. He said instead: "Well, at least you're even here. I guess I should be surprised you even showed up and I didn't have to drag you in here kicking and screaming off of the goddamned bridge, I mean--"

"Doctor," Spock finally hissed. "Are we going to waste time conversing or are we going to _get on with things?"_

Woah. McCoy found himself taking a step backwards, caught off guard by Spock's intense, almost seething demeanor. What the hell? He swallowed hard, holding up a hand. "This is just a physical exam. Relax." He wiped the sweat from his brow and knew he shouldn't show fear to this guy but something in those dark, almost entirely black eyes seemed distinctly primal. "Get in here, Mr. Spock," he barked, waving the first officer into the nearest private cubicle.

Spock halted at the entrance. "The location is unsatisfactory."

"What?" The morning was already going to hell in a hand basket. He should have fucking known, having to deal with this pompous ass and it wasn't even 07:30 yet.

"I would prefer that my physical exam take place in the main ward."

"My staff's out in the main ward. Y'know." McCoy motioned. "Onlookers? Don't you want privacy?"

"The additional staff in the immediate vicinity would be acceptable."

"Okay....Why?"

"I do not need to explain my rationale to you."

"Yes you do. You usually--"

"Must I repeat myself, Dr. McCoy? Perhaps a physician who is not hearing impaired should perform the exam."

"Spock."

Spock folded his arms. "I hereby request that an alternate physician perform my exam."

"Request denied, Commander. What the hell's your problem? I'm your fucking primary care physician and I say get in the fucking room and get your fucking uniform off so we can get this thing done and dusted! That's a medical order, Mr. Spock!"

"If you will not honor my request of either moving the exam to the main ward or bringing in another physician, who is much more qualified than yourself, I must refuse this physical exam, on grounds of personal harassment. Citing regulation 1350A. And I quote--"

"I'm perfectly aware of the goddamned regulation. Now you listen here, you pointy eared pain in the ass! I never said we couldn't move it into the main ward. I merely--"

Spock took off towards the main ward without bothering to see if the CMO followed behind.

"Get your ass back here, goddammit!" McCoy yelled after him.

*

Kirk nearly spat out his coffee. "He said what?"

" _'If you do not cease your poking and prodding of me, Dr. McCoy, I shall break your puny, human neck_ '," McCoy replied to the captain's incredulous face. "He outright refused to disrobe. I told him 'fine' don't fucking disrobe, then it's gonna take a lot longer. I barely got a cursory exam in before he jumped off the bed and stormed out of my medbay."

"That's not surprising: You two fighting. Did you jab him with one of your trusty hypos?"

"This ain't funny, Jim."

"Didn't say it was."

"Well, I placed him on medical report. He'd made me perform the exam out in the main ward, which is quite frankly, odd. Damned odd."

"Where does he normally have it?"

"In complete privacy, as per his medical file. I was, as usual, willing to honor said request, but he--"

"He has a right to be examined anyplace he wants to. Maybe he now feels more comfortable in the main ward. You can't dispute that. That his report?" Jim motioned towards the PADD in the doctor's grasp.

McCoy handed it over. "Yes. I've put here, one more outburst like that and he's confined to quarters."

Jim frowned and signed it.

"That hobgoblin's a ticking time bomb. A hothead, volatile. You never know when he's gonna snap. He deserves to be in the brig," McCoy added.

Jim passed the PADD back. "And when you're captain of this ship, you'll decide." McCoy opened his mouth to protest but Kirk held up his hand. "I'm sure… he's just under a lot of stress."

"Stress? From what now? If he can't handle Starfleet, maybe he shouldn't fucking be here."

"Don't be like that, Bones. In fact your own behavior strikes me as all too similar sometimes."

"Jim, why do you keep defending Spock's behavior?"

"I'm not."

"It sounds as if you are."

"Bones," Jim warned. "Enough."

McCoy grunted and walked towards the Captain's bathroom. "I'm using your head, Jim, alright?"

"Fine."

As he peed in the toilet, he glanced at the reflection of himself in the mirror. Goddamn he looked even worse, more haggard than before. Dark circles under the eyes. He called out to the captain: "Maybe…maybe there's something the matter with him. Something has gotta be wrong. He hasn't eaten in five days. His vitals are through the roof. Adrenaline levels: triple the baseline amount. That's about all I could discover before he leapt off the bio-bed. If he's ill, I have no idea what--"

"I'll talk to him. I'll find out what the hell is going on."

McCoy finished up, then walked back to the captain's desk. "Be careful, Jim. Say the wrong thing and he'll pounce on you."

Jim threw his empty coffee cup into the recycler. "Bones! I don't know what kind of personal vendetta you have against Mr. Spock, but I expect no less than utmost professionalism between my senior officers."

"Is that what you think this is all about? You think I have a personal problem with Spock?"

"You do," Jim said and pointed at him. "Don't you?"

"What the hell's that got to do with anything? So I don't like him much. Can you blame me? That doesn't mean I can't be professional, I'm his doctor for Chrissake."

Without waiting to be dismissed, McCoy turned on his heel and exited.

*

"I brought you some soup," Uhura announced as she entered Spock's cabin. She placed a tray bearing a covered bowl on the desk. She walked over and seated herself on his bunk, next to where he lay in the fetal position. "Spock?" She reached out to touch him, but didn't quite make contact.

He quickly sat up. "That is very kind of you, Nyota." He sniffed the air and stood up. "Plomeek," he whispered.

"Your favorite."

"Yes." He stared down at her sitting on his bunk, an intense, unwavering, unnerving stare.

"Can we turn up the lights? I can barely see you." A small high pitched giggle escaped her lips, before she cleared her throat.

"I prefer it this way."

"You haven't seemed yourself lately."

"Haven't I?"

"Thought I'd..." As her vision adjusted to the darkness, she ran a finger along the shelf, paused to study a sinister stone gargoyle-like statue with red and orange flaming eyes. It was new. Never seen that one before. "Thought I'd check up on you. You've been pulling a dissapearing act lately."

"I am merely spending my off duty hours in quiet meditation and contemplation. That is all."

She nodded. "Okay. Well. I hope you like the soup. I made it myself."

"I am sure I will. You have always been a...fantastic... cook."

She raised an eyebrow at 'fantastic' but refrained from comment. "Thanks. Well, I...I'm about to start my shift. I have watch, tonight. Don't want to be late to the bridge, do I?"

"Of course not, Nyota."

She walked to the door but hesitated. She heard a whisper from him, sounded as if he'd said: 'I wish it was you.' She turned around. "Spock? Is everything alright?"

"Yes. I am fine."

*

"Jim, you check up on him, yet?"

" _I'm on it, Bones, be patient. Kirk out_."

McCoy snapped off the desk comm and tapped his stylus for a few moments. No sign of acute infection, just those out of wack vitals. Perhaps his diet? Must be a nutrition deficiency somewhere. He called up Spock's meal plan (damned hobgoblin STILL hadn't eaten). Shit. Was he going to have to fix a bowl of that awful Plomeek soup himself and force feed it into that pouty mouth?

Unbelievably he got a slight tingling down below at the thought of holding the Vulcan down and feeding him by force. Sliding a spoon between those bow shaped lips.

"Are you nuts? It's Spock," he whispered to himself.

He heard a faint beeping noise emanating from Ward A, next to his office. He set his PADD down and went over to investigate.

Bright red. Flashing.

00:00.

00:00.

00:00.

00:00.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up, yet again. He hurried over to shut the biobed monitor off. Thought maintenance had fixed that.

He rubbed his face with his hands and decided to take a walk. Nothing he could do at the moment, except wait on the captain. Maybe Spock would sing like a parakete to his best buddy Jim. The captain had a way of flirting information out of people. Spock might be no different. Maybe their newly close friendship had some benefits after all?

The lights were dim in the corridors, of course they would be at 02:45, in the middle of Delta shift. He hated this time of night on board ship. Delta was the skeleton shift, most crew were sleeping so the decks were practically empty, the corridors deadly silent.

Dead calm. Isn’t that what they called it on those ancient water submarines?

Sometimes the Enterprise reminded him of a goddamned sub--or what he’d seen on vids of the interiors. It made him claustrophobic. Now granted the Enterprise decks weren’t anything like the cramped quarters of a submarine, but he still felt that same creepy sensation, like the bulkheads were closing in on him. And in this darkness, he passed two too many flashing red lights.

...Like that one, right there, blinking in red. Blink. Blink. Blink.

"It’s only a monitor, doing it’s job," he told himself, trying to calm down. He’d passed by that same monitor every day. It only seemed ten times brighter in the dark.

And, as he walked in the quiet, he couldn’t shake off this odd feeling that he was being followed. Watched. He kept turning around to see if anyone _was_ following him. Nobody there.

"Lenny, they are gonna section your ass, if you don't knock that shit off," he whispered to himself.

Goddamn he could really use a drink.

*

He could not resist capturing the man's hand in his. He kissed the wrist. He skimmed the thoughts through the skin to skin contact. Warmth, concern, love. He delighted in the delightful fragrance of the hand. He reached over and caressed the man's hair. He sniffed his delictable odors, so pleasant indeed. He slowly, deliberately ran a finger down the man's face, to his neck, to his shoulder. Too much clothing. This offended him. The man should not dare be in his private abode wearing so much clothing. He yanked the man down towards him, ripped off the man's tunic and undershirt. He was so very close, his body, his lips, his scent. Right in his personal space. He placed a kiss on those lips.

'What are you doing?'

Aw, the growing terror. The man could feel him, hard, against his thigh. He could have him, if he wanted to. The man for all his physique was far weaker than he.

The act of claiming would be brutal but necessary.

He blinked. A trickle of bright red blood ran down from the man's lip to his chin.

The vision disappeared.

"No..." he cried out. "You must come back."

He staggered over to his bunk. He threw his head back, screamed in despair, flinging himself onto the bed. He shoved his fingers into his mouth, whimpering as he sucked.

He bit down hard, tasting copper. He closed his eyes and ejaculated into his pants.

*

Jim Kirk pressed the buzzer for a third time. Still no answer. The computer had pleasantly chimed: 'Commander Spock is presently in his quarters.'

"Computer, door override, on my command: Kirk, Jame--" The door obediently slid open for him.

"Captain." Spock stood in the doorway, as calm as can be, nothing out of the ordinary.

"Mr. Spock. Is there anything wrong?"

"Nothing whatsoever, Sir."

"Why did it take three buzzers for you to acknowledge the door?"

"I was, uh…" Spock began.

If Jim hadn't known the first officer better, he have sworn the Vulcan was searching for an excuse. "May I enter, Mr. Spock?"

"Actually, Captain, I--"

"Commander," Jim broke in. "Perhaps I should rephrase…let me in. That's an order." Jim gave a steely, determined grimace.

Spock sighed and stepped aside to allow his captain access.

Jim entered the Vulcan's cabin, glancing around. "What's that smell?"

"Smell?"

"Yeah, an odor, like--"

"Is there something you wanted, Captain?"

"Regulation 63. 47A, Mr. Spock. All ship's officers and crew are required to report to the Chief Medical Officer and his staff for their tri-annual physical, at the very least. You are in violation of said regulation."

"I am aware of the regulation, Captain. I most definitely reported to the Chief Medical Officer as ordered."

Drip.

"Yes, but you--" Jim stopped, "What's that noise?"

"Noise, Captain? I hear nothing amiss."

Drip.

"Sounds like...dripping," Jim said.

Drip.

"Dripping, Captain?" Spock raised an eyebrow.

Drip.

Jim glanced down.

Blood.

"Jesus Christ, Spock!" He motioned at Spock's hand, covered in blood, dripping green onto the deck, a small pool forming. "What the hell happened?"

Kirk reached over to make an attempt at grabbing Spock's fingers. Spock pulled them away before the captain could make contact.

"I suffered a minor accident," Spock informed him. "I am…fine."

“Spock. Those are teeth marks on your fingers. Who did that to you?" Jim held out his hand. "Come on, let me look at it."

"Jim.” Spock hoped the captain would catch the slight pleading tone of his voice. "Your concern is unnecessary."

"Spock. I insist. Now, Mr. Spock."

Spock sighed and reluctantly held out the hand. He swallowed when Jim took a hold of it. Jim turned it over, inspecting the wound. He finally released Spock's hand and walked over to the desk monitor. "Kirk to McCoy."

" _McCoy here_."

"Bones. Spock's quarters on the double. Bring your medi-kit."

*

"Teeth marks," McCoy said, tutting, dabbing at the blood. “Who bit you?”

Spock yanked his hand out of the doctor's grasp.

McCoy grabbed at it again. "I'll tell you when I'm finished with you. You're lucky there's no infection."

"It was merely an accident."

"Must have been some accident. You're cut down to the bone. Now gimme!"

Spock gritted his teeth and tried to remain stoic as the CMO finished up and sealed the wound. He couldn't help the low growl emitting from his lips.

Bones released the hand as he eyed Spock warily. "Spock, let me quickly do some readings on you. We'll call that your tri-annual, alright?"

Spock closed his eyes. "Fair enough."

"Well, good, I'm glad you agree," McCoy snapped and pulled out his Type II scanner.

"Bones," Jim called out, tiredly.

The scanner whirled as McCoy got the readings he was interested in obtaining. "I'm about done here. We can go." Jim and Bones reached the door but Bones turned around. "You look like hell. Get some sleep. I'll come back and sedate your ass if you don't. You feel any worse, you contact me, got it?”

"Acknowledged, Dr. McCoy," Spock said from his bunk.

When they were on the other side of the door, Jim asked. "What's up with him?"

McCoy held up the scanner. "I don't know and I don't like it. He's as tightly wound as an Celebrian coil eel."

"I'm going to find out." Jim turned back around.

McCoy caught his arm. "My scanner shows his vitals as high but stable at the moment. Best let him rest for now.”

\--

He felt rather unseemly pride in the fact that the one was so near to him, yet he held off his attack.

*

McCoy walked back into the darkened med-bay. The biobed was once again blinking 00:00 in red, striking in the darkness. “I turned that off,” he whispered.

“Doctor?” came the voice behind him, shattering the quiet.

He spun around. “Jesus!"

"Just Lieutenant Smith, Dr. McCoy. Not Jesus."

He huffed slightly in amusement. "Computer, main light and cut that goddamned malfunction out," he called out. The mains brightened back up to reveal Smith, no boots on, standing on one foot. "What the hell happened to you?" She hopped towards him as he walked towards her. "S'alright, stay right there. Don't go jumping around like a bunny rabbit."

She giggled and said: "I slipped and fell. On rael'tha feces."

"Rael'tha feces?"

"I let the creature fly around for a while and some fell onto the deck. I didn't see it. I slipped and my boot caught the leg of the table as I went down."

"So you hopped barefoot all the way on over to my med-bay, huh?"

"Wasn't that far. I managed."

"So you did." He picked her up and carried her in his arms over to a bio-bed. He swung her around then plopped her down on the cushion as she giggled again. "Well, you weren't expecting to have to walk to a bed in your condition, were you? He flipped on the scanner. "You have two broken toes. The rest of you is bruised, but fine. I'll have that fixed right up for you."

"Thanks, Doc."

"Don't mention it." He leaned over and picked up the protoplaser. "So you slipped on rael'tha shit, huh?" he asked, conversationally, as he worked on her foot. "You can handle a rael'tha flying around? Those things are huge."

"Yes. Of course I can."

"You put it back in it's cage or do you need me to help you corral it?"

"I got it under control."

"Sure?"

She smiled. "Yes, Doc. I just hate cleaning those damned nasty cages every day, but it's my job." She sighed.

"Well...That's nothin'. When I first landed my residency straight out of med school, I was assigned to a testing center. Y' know, those facilities where people volunteer to be test subjects? Well, every day the poor fools had to deficate into a bucket and set it into a fridge unit. My job was to take those buckets and smear the subject's shit onto glass slides and examine it on the microscope."

"Humanoid feces aren't as bad as rael'tha shit, Doc. You're just a wimp."

"Say's you." He finished up with the plaser and commensed absently massaging her foot. "How's that feel?"

"Better. Thank you."

"No more pain?"

"Nope."

"I hope you don't have shit on your foot."

She laughed. "No..."

"Better not. You must have kicked the table pretty damned hard, or you weren't wearing boots."

She sighed. "Alright, Doc. You caught me. I was wearing my slippers."

"Slippers? Like...house slippers?" She nodded at that and he chuckled. "So why'd you tell me you were wearing boots?"

"Because I was on duty. My feet were killing me, so i put my slippers on. Not exactly regulation, now is it?"

"Sounds just like my momma," he replied. "She does the housework in house slippers, slipping and sliding along those hardwood floors. In that creaky old house of hers."

"Where are you from?"

"Conyers, Georgia. Ever been to Georgia?"

"No."

"Oh. Well, it's nice. Y'know. Miss the ol' place."

"I'm sure you do, Doc," she said politely.

He realized he had been massaging her foot this whole time, so he blushed and knocked it off. He cleared his throat. "Uh...you should be fine, now. Here." He scooped her from off the bio-bed (probably could have let her get down herself but...).

As he was about to set her onto her feet the lights extinguished, throwing the both of them once again into pitch darkness. "Lieutenant?" he asked softly. "Have you noticed the illumination has been a mite buggy aboard ship lately?"

"No."

"Just my med-bay, huh?"

"I guess so."

"Computer," he called out louder. "Lights. 100 percent."

"Working," the computer replied.

"What do you mean, 'working', computer? Get on it, now!" In his arms, he could feel Lieutenant Smith's breathing increase. "S'matter?" he asked her.

"I don't like the dark," she admitted.

He sighed. "I don't like it either. Nothin' good ever happens in the dark." He leaned a bit and he could sense that her mouth was very close to his. "'Cept..." She giggled. "Well..." He chuckled back. "Even that is better when I can see the person. Come on, let's find the override. Should be over here someplace." Her still in his arms, he inched over to where it should be and shifted her over so he could feel for it. His hand finally landed on the switch. "Here it is."

The lights went on. He nearly leapt out of his skin (and dropped the lieutenant) when he discovered the form of Commander Spock standing right in front of him. He had not heard the Vulcan enter med-bay.

Spock said nothing but stared hard at the girl in McCoy's arms. The eyes were narrowed and completely black.

McCoy quickly set the lieutenant on her feet. "Alright, Miss Smith?"

"Thanks, Doc." She threw Spock an almost frightened glance and fled med-bay.

As the Vulcan shifted his gaze to McCoy, more fear inexplicably prickled in the pit of the doctor's chest. He struggled to control his breathing and anxiety. “Commander, I take it your symptoms have worsened.”

“Affirmative.”

"How's your hand?" McCoy grabbed at it but Spock pulled it away. "Let me look at it." The infernal Vulcan finally allowed the touch, staring up at the bulkhead ceiling as McCoy examined it.

\---

Control. Control. CONTR--

\----

McCoy released the hand. Spock blinked and appeared to breathe out a sigh of relief. "No sign of infection, Commander," McCoy said, keeping his voice even, his tone non-accusatory. "Something else the matter?"

Spock nodded.

“Well, then, step into my parlor, Mr. Spock.” He waved the Vulcan onto a biobed, but not before resetting the malfunctioning monitor.

*

'Spock no...please don't...oh yes...Spock...'

“ _McCoy to Captain Kirk_.”

Kirk snapped awake, the dream dissipating. It had been so vivid, so real. Spock pinning him against the wall, yanking his trousers down to his knees... forcing him to...

He hit the intercom switch. “Kirk here."

“Jim. You need to get up here to sickbay, now.”

*

Jim stalked into the ward. “What is it, Bones?”

McCoy motioned at the sedated first officer on the biobed. “He’s dying.”  
____________  
ON TO CHAPTER 3


	3. Chapter 3

"Why is Spock dying?" Jim demanded.

“His vitals--"

"Fuck his vitals, Bones. Get him stabilized."

"I can't, Jim."

"Yes, you can," Jim insisted. "Are you a doctor or aren't you?"

"I'm a doctor, not a miracle worker! Goddammit, Jim, I don't even know what's causing this adrenaline spike! All I know is he can't stay like this forever. At this rate he's got only a... few days at the most!"

"Wake him up, Bones."

"Jim--"

"Wake. Him. Up!"

McCoy sighed, picked up a hypo and slammed it with a lot more force than was probably necessary into Spock’s arm. Seconds later Spock opened his eyes. “Jim.”

“Spock." Jim folded his arms. "What the hell?!"

"I beg your pardon, Captain?"

"McCoy says you're dying."

“Jim." Spock's gaze flitted from Kirk to the CMO then back to the captain. "I assure you I am quite alright. I merely visited the doctor tonight because I felt slightly unwell. I am not dying. Dr. McCoy tends to exaggerate.”

“Exaggerate?” McCoy sputtered. “Exaggerate? Monitors do not lie, you goddamned bastard!"

“You yourself said that the bio-bed monitor was malfunctioning,” Spock replied. “A malfunctioning monitor easily affects telemetry, does it not?”

“It’s only blinking double zero’s, that all the malfunctioning it’s doing. Otherwise it’s working just fine.”

“That you know of, Dr. McCoy.”

“So you’re disputing my diagnosis, Mr. Spock?!”

Spock sat up on his elbows. “Indeed I am.”

“You're not qualified to do that! I’m the one running every fucking test on you in the book--”

“Bones,” Kirk said. “Spock knows his own body. If he insists he’s okay, maybe he's alright. Maybe the monitor is malfunctioning.”

"You--" Bones scowled. "No. No. No." He shook his head. "I don't fucking believe this. You're gonna trust this hobgoblin's medical judgement over mine. I don't fucking believe this. Who's the fucking doctor around here? I might as well resign my commission if that's how it's gonna--

"Bones. Scan him again. Okay?"

"Jim."

"Do it."

McCoy hesitated a moment, then grabbed his small type II scanner. It whirled for a few moments. He checked the readout and sighed mightily. "Goddammit."

"What...Bones?"

“Stable.” McCoy stopped the scanner, hit it on his palm and scanned again. He scowled at the result.

Spock cocked a much too smug eyebrow as if to say ‘told you so’.

McCoy waved him off. “Get the hell out of my medbay, Commander. In your quarters. Rest.”

"Acknowledged, Doctor."

Jim laid a hand on Spock's shoulder but removed it when he felt the vulcan stiffen at the contact. "Come on, Spock."

\--

In the captain and first officer's wake, McCoy screamed out: "Connors!"

"Doctor?"

"Tear this fucking monitor apart. I want to know why in the hell it keeps malfunctioning. I don't want you to move from this spot till you find the problem, got it? I don't give a flying fuck if you grow roots from standing here so long. Just do your goddamned job!"

Connors gulped. "Yes, Doctor."

*

Jim halted as they reached the first officer's door. "Spock, I--"

"By your leave, Captain. I shall go and rest now, as the doctor ordered."

"Maybe we should--" Jim coughed into his hand. "We need to talk."

"Regarding what, Sir?"

"Just...you can...you know you can tell me anything. Anything."

"There is nothing to talk about, Jim.  I shall resume my duties after a few hours rest."

"Well.  We'll let Bones be the judge of that.  Come on," Jim replied. "Let's go inside, to some privacy and--"

"Jim, I assure you I am fine. I will go and rest now. Thank you for your concern."

"Spock." Jim stared, waiting with baited breath until Spock glanced up and finally...finally met his eyes.

"I will go into my quarters and rest now," Spock said in an odd, measured tone of voice, those dark orbs hooded. "McCoy was simply mistaken."

*

He took a short walk from his cabin. As the doors were about to close him into turbolift A, Uhura rushed in. "Spock. Everything okay?"

"Everything is fine," he replied, his hands clasped firmly behind his back. "Thank you."

"It's just that I heard you...haven't been feeling well, I can tell. Something's wrong. Terribly wrong. Please, tell me."

He gave her a look. "Leave me the fuck alone, Nyota," he hissed.

Her eyes widened. Shocked into silence, her mouth formed an oval of surprise. Then the look of concern slid into anger. "Sure. Okay."

As soon as the doors opened on Deck 7, she stalked out.

The doors slid shut.

He punched the controls hard enough to shatter the glass.

\--

McCoy threw his stylus at the bio-bed monitor, nearly missing Connor's head, it hit the glass with a thwack and bounced off, landing onto the deck. "Son of a fucking bitch!"

*

In his quarters, he flipped the toggle on the subspace comm. "Spock to Spock," he breathed and waited.

\--

"Dr. McCoy, there is nothing wrong with the bio-bed scanner. It is operating perfectly, Sir."

"Run another diagnostic, Connors!"

"Doctor, I've tested it five times--"

"Goddammit, Connors, I ordered you--"

"Bones," Jim called out from the doorway.

McCoy shot another glare at the terrified tech's direction then went over to Jim. "Connors says it ain't the bed scanner. My type II is the one that's broken. Spock's full of horseshit. He's dying. I knew it."

\--

He reached out, flipping the meditation statue...the watcher... onto the deck. The smooth stone shattered, but did nothing to alleviate the--

He balled up his fists against his eyes and screamed.

\--

"Spock's resting."

"And he sure as shit ain't talking, either. I don't like this."

"Duly noted, Doctor," Jim replied with a grimace.

\--

" _Spock here_." The elder half Vulcan in the monitor studied him intently. " _Ah_ ," he said with a slight knowing smirk.

"I feel..."

" _Agitated? Uncomfortable?Arroused?_?"

"Extremely. I wish to leap out of my own skin."

" _Yes. It does feel that way. It only gets worse. You will become a shadow of your normal self. Very soon. It is unfortunate what befells us at this time. I am... sorry_."

"Pon farr," Commander Spock said. "I have entered pon farr."

" _Yes. Your first pon farr. It is now time for you to take a mate. Father surely instructed you on what to do_."

"Only once. The day I was betrothed. But...when Vulcan was destroyed, my intended was, along with it."

" _You have a girlfriend_ ," Spock the elder replied. " _Lieutenant Uhura_."

"No longer," Spock said with regret.

" _Reconcile with her_."

"I cannot--"

" _Cannot or will not_?"

Commander Spock cleared his throat. "What are my options, Mr. Spock?"

" _You must come to new Vulcan and bond. Immediately. You have no choice. Well. You do have a choice. Death or take a spouse. I would prefer you mate, rather than die. If you do not wish to take Miss Uhura, then a mate will be selected for you. Inform your captain of your situation and he will plot the course_."

"I cannot. My father insisted that outworlders were never to learn of our terrible affliction. It is the Vulcan way."

The elder Spock smirked knowingly once again and nodded. " _As your chief medical officer would say: 'bullshit.' Jim is no outworlder. He is our friend. Tell him, now. He will help you. No matter what the cost. I shall make the arrangements for your arrival_."

"Acknowledged, Mr. Spock," the younger said.

" _Oh and Spock_?"

"Yes?"

The elder Vulcan regarded the younger with pity. " _It will...not be pretty_."

"I understand," Spock whispered.

________

ON TO CHAPTER 4


	4. T'Khasi'uzh

' _T'Khasi’uzh_ '.  The new home to a few thousand surviving Vulcans.

The name of the planet directly translated, actually meant: 'Nu-Vulcan' (or 'New-Vulcan'), which should have sounded optimistic, it was a colony for crying out loud, a rebirth.  

But somehow the Vulcan word only seemed downright sinister.

Those beams of light that always moved across your vision if you kept your eyes open during beam-down, along with that icky-sicky feeling of not existing, not feeling your body, faded away.  As soon as he could move and feel the solid ground underneath his feet, Jim spun around to see Bones and Spock standing on either side of him in the middle of what seemed to be... nowhere.  Flat grey dirt and pebbles for kilometers. Desolate. Bleak.  Hot like a fucking oven.  

He looked over at Bones, meeting the man's gaze-- he knew that hyper-nervous glimmer in those greeny-brown eyes anywhere.  

He turned around again, the stillness of the world disconcerting, creeping the shit out of him.  On second thought, maybe the moniker of _T’Khasi’uzh_  was more than appropriate.  This place seemed distinctly unwelcoming.  

Wasn’t the other, older Spock the head of this new Vulcan colony?  Why would he keep the place so...horrible?  Nobody here to greet them?  Maybe the original planet Vulcan was the same way, he’d never actually stepped foot on that world--just the drilling platform--

Despite the elevated heat, he shuddered as he remembered Vulcan's demise.  An entire planet and most of it's civilization lost to a manufactured black hole.  And Spock’s mother--

He glanced over with more compassion at his first officer.  “Spock,” he breathed, shattering the quiet. “We’re here.” 

Spock stood, unmoving, unspeaking, listless, completely glassy eyed and vacant.  Did not acknowledge his voice.

McCoy whipped out his scanner--but Jim found himself stopping him.

“What?” Bones snapped.

“Just wait, okay?”

Spock still did not appear to register the fact that he was home or even the closest thing to home.  The first officer had been this way since--  

On board ship Spock had broke down and finally TOLD him precisely what was really going on.  Spock had called 'the affliction' (as he had described it) _pon farr_.  Getting this info out of the first officer was like pulling teeth as Bones had said.  And Jim had to admit he'd been a little too blase about how Spock had described 'this time of mating', problably shouldn't have done that.  Spock was in real danger and obviously humiliated by this.  He should have handled things with a bit more sensitivity, as Bones had kept reminding him.  But, what was the big deal?  You need to fuck someone or die.  So go do it. Fuck your brains out. Enjoy yourself. But Spock wasn't James T. Kirk. 

After Spock had unraveled the complete story in an odd halting voice, barely keeping it together, the first officer had invited Jim and Bones to accompany him down to the planet's surface. Next thing they knew he’d shut down, just like this.  Jim and Bones had had to guide the Vulcan by the arm to the transporter room.  

"Real nice place this is,” Bones started in bitching.  “These are the correct coordinates, aren't they, Jim?”

“Yes, Bones.”

“Then where the hell is everybody?”  

Before he could answer, something--a chill running down his spine and to his hands and fingers and toes--made Jim turn and Bones with him.  

There stood three red robed, hooded figures, the faces obscured with grotesque grey, theatrical style masques. It made their appearance macabre. They were quiet, still and nightmarish against the bleak, silent background. 

Jim assumed the three actually were Vulcans and not some freakish type of android, which they could well have been in this day and age.  Where the hell had they come from?  He flashed another glance at Bones, who was staring warily at the red, robotic looking figures like they were a tiger about to attack, raising his eyebrow, wiping his sweaty hands on his trousers.

The three figures beckoned at them and they followed.  Spock went first.  Kirk and McCoy trailed behind him.  

As to where they were actually going, was a mystery.

“Feels like we’re in a goddamned funeral cortege,” Bones muttered.

The 'cortege' eventually reached a grey stone, monolithic, gothic type structure, the only building that could be seen for kilometers.  As they hiked, sweat poured down Jim’s face, underarms and back, dampening his tunic.  

“Looks like a mausoleum.  No other buildings?” Bones wondered.  “What’s gonna happen to Spock?”

“Bones, Shhhhh.”

“I don't like this.”

“Neither do I, Bones, but we have no choice. Do we?”

“So he has to mate with some poor soul they have picked out for him?  Right?  And then he can go?  And he'll be completely back to normal? Every Vulcan goes through...this?”

“I don’t know.”

“I don’t like it.  Not one bit, Jim.”

“So you keep saying, Bones.”  Jim noted the physician's hand drifting down to double check his phaser, communicator, tri-corder and med-kit.  He checked his own phaser and comm.

They finally entered the structure, passing through a tall doorway, finding themselves in a small, windowless foyer.  The air was a hell of a lot cooler in here, a relief after the oppresive heat of outside. Inside felt like an ancient hushed library, seemingly beyond the pale to utter even a peep.  Their footsteps reverberated loudly.  The black and white, marble-like floor they stood on looked just like a chess board, all they needed was some massive pieces. 

“We’re the pawns in a horrible chess game,” Bones abruptly muttered and giggled.

“Bones,” Jim hissed. He studied the doctor curiously.  “Just relax, okay?”

“I am relaxed, Jim,” Bones whispered.  Jim shook his head.

Suddenly, two of the hooded figures herded Spock off in one direction. 

Jim, with Bones at his heels, moved to follow them, but were barred by the remaining hooded guard.  “Wait!” Jim called after them.  “Where are you--?”  

But Spock and the guards had vanished.

“Well, this is just great, just--”

“Bones, enough!”

“Jim, I--”

“Thee are his shipmates?” A Vulcan female, tiny in stature, elderly and stunningly beautiful with long black hair approached them. She was clad in a white robe with golden accents, carrying a long staff.  She regarded Jim and McCoy calmly, quietly but with thinly veiled suspicion in her brilliant blue eyes.

“Madam, I am Captain James T. Kirk of the Starship Enterprise and this is my Chief Medical Officer, Dr. Leonard McCoy.”

“I am aware of who thee are. You have my permission to leave.”  The woman’s voice was heavily accented.

“Leave?” McCoy said, fuming, motioning furiously. "Look, lady, we ain't--"

“Bones,” Jim hissed.

“Thee are out-worlders and we do not speak of such private matters outside of our own. _Spohtk_ has brought dishonor onto himself by violating--”

“I assure you, Madam,” Kirk broke in.  “We are as ignorant of what is going on as you would like us to be. All we know is that our dear friend is dying and mating will save his life. That's it. Now if that is dishonor, so be it. Spock had to tell me something so we'd bring him here. It isn't his fault.  Blame me, if you want to blame someone.”

The woman snapped her fingers. Almost immediately a young Vulcan male, who appeared to be an atache or an aide, was by her side. “Take them to their accommodations.”

The aide punched what seemed to be a command into the PADD he carried.

“Accommodations?” Bones wondered.  “Just how long are we staying?”

“Now wait just a moment,” Jim said to the woman, “we'd like some answers.”

The aide spoke:  “You will avail yourself the opportunity to rest and read from our libraries in the quarters we have deigned to offer you while you wait patiently for _Spohtk_ to complete his duty. This way please.”  He beckoned them with a single finger.

“His duty? That's what you call--” Jim bit his tongue. “Can we see him at any time, when he's not actively…performing his duty?” McCoy shot him a sharp glance.

“He will be unable to converse with you,” the aide replied.

"Why?"

"We have spoken too much to thee about such matters."

"Wait, we haven't even begun to--" 

"This way please," the aide beckoned once again. 

*

They moved through twists and turns and unwavering dimness, traversing the never ending black and white floor.  Forbidding silence everywhere. Soon they (or at least Jim had) became completely confused and had no idea which way they had entered from. 

“Goddamned crazy ass Vulcan society,” Bones snapped, his voice echoing, as they trudged onward behind the guide. 

Jim whipped out his communicator and checked it. “You getting a signal in here?” 

The doctor pulled out his own communicator. “Nope.” 

“Excuse me,” Jim called out to the aide.  “Excuse me!”

The aide barely halted.  “Yes?”

Jim quickly caught up with him. “I'd like to be in contact with my ship.  Is there somewhere were we can--?” 

“Impossible inside this structure. Your ship has been informed that you shall be absent for a few days, at least.” 

“Absent for a few days?  You can’t...I can’t be--”

“Jim, what the hell--?”

“Bones,” Jim hissed before turning back to the aide.  “Lead us back out of this structure.  I need to be in regular contact with my ship.”

“Impossible,” the aide replied.

“Excuse me, Sir,” Jim said.  “You’re leading us out.  Now.”

“I am afraid that I cannot.  Not now.  Please follow me.”

“To where?” Jim demanded.

“It is not too much farther.  Come.”

Jim turned around to Bones who raised his eyebrow and said:  “We should have left a trail of breadcrumbs.”

*

_...the structure's design has existed since the days of Surak. It has traditionally embraced the T'Khasi appreciation of geometry, precision and architecture. C’thia, the suppression of all emotion and the accompanying barbarity, had created the unavoidable state of 'pon farr', the abandonment of control, on the seven-yearly cycle._

_Affecting the frontal lobe, high concentrations of the Za'zith hormone is to be found in the afflicted Vulcan. All logic ceases.  The sufferer is overwhelmed with emotion, desire. This humiliates the sufferer, endangering those around him, including the chosen mate._

_What cannot be eradicated, must be hidden away. The Vulcan must be allowed to cave into the latent desires at this time. What better to hide them away then the ancient design of the structure. It has proven most effective in corralling the evil of the plak-tow...._

*

After the aide had shown Jim and Bones to their rooms he had promptly disappeared, just like every other Vulcan in this establishment. 

Jim paced inside the tiny room he'd been assigned to. Austere, like a monk’s cell.  Grey stone, unadorned walls. That same black and white floor. The knowledge that there was apparently no way to leave this facility without a guide to show them the way out set his teeth on edge. 

He sat down heavily on the bed, which was basically comprised of a stone plinth with a thin mattress on top. Comfy. On the bright side, the bathroom attached to the cell was luxurious and comfortable, tiled in green and white.  It was like what you'd find in a five star hotel and almost as large as the sleeping area itself, which made absolutely no sense. 

He almost...almost wished he and Bones had been assigned a room to share together.  He had to admit he missed living in the CMO’s pocket at the academy and in times like these--

“Jim.”

Jim nearly leapt out of his skin.  He turned around to find Bones standing in the open doorway.  “Jesus Christ, you startled me.  Didn’t hear you come up.”

“Captains aren’t allowed to be scared.” There was something faraway in the CMO’s eyes, something unsettling.  

“You alright Bones?”

“Fine, Jim.  Just worried about that damned hobgoblin.”

Jim grinned.  “Aw, ain’t that sweet.”  

“I’m a doctor, worrying is my job.  By the way, our ‘accomodation’ sucks ass.”

“Duly noted.”  Jim flipped open his communicator.  “Dammit, still no signal.  I was hoping maybe for a miracle.”

Bones held up his tri-corder.  “Guess what else ain’t workin’?”

Jim pulled his phaser off his belt, checked it.  “Bones.  Phaser.”

That was working, at least. "Bones? Good?"

Bones pulled off his own.  “Yeah.”  As they both put them back on their respective belts, Bones sighed almost resignedly and leaned against the doorway being entirely too casual for the situation.  

Jim grabbed his arm.  “Come on, we’re gonna go find our way outside.”

Bones suddenly shook off his hand.  “We’re coming back here, aren’t we?”

“I dunno, Bones.  I need to contact the Enterprise.”

“Well the Vulcans told us to stay here...they’d called the ship, didn’t they?  I mean...the Enterprise is being kept informed.”

“Bones, seriously?  Come on.”

“What about Spock?”

“I’m sure that...he’ll be fine.  He’s fine.  Let’s go, that’s an order.”

They looked one way down the never ending corridor, then the other.  “Which way, Jim?”

Jim made a decision and pointed.  “That way.”

“Sure?” Bones smiled at him.

“Whatever, yeah.  Gotta start somewhere.”

They began walking, making their way, traversing the eternal passageway and seemingly going around in circles.  It hadn’t taken this long to get in here with the guide.  

“Jim....” It had been a whisper but it sounded freakishly loud in the quiet.

“Yeah?”

“Hansel and Gretel.”

“What about them?”

“In the original nursery rhyme the parents were suffering from famine.  The step-mother suggested eating the kids.  But the dad, he didn’t want to do it.  So he dumped them in the woods--”

“The nursery rhyme? That isn't how it goes.  You're thinking of the witch.  She wanted to put them in the pot and eat them.”

“No...I mean the step-mom.  They hadn’t even met the witch yet.”

“The step-mom wanted to eat Hansel and Gretel? Like a cannibal?  I don’t remember that part.”

“Because it ain’t in the Disney sanitized version. It's in the original.”

Jim sighed.  “The step-mom wanted to leave them in the woods, Bones.  Not actually eat them."

"Ain't how it really goes."

"Bones, what does Hansel and Gretel have to do with anything?  We’re trying to find our way outside.”

“We ain’t getting out of here.  Should have left a trail of breadcrumbs.  We're gonna get eaten.”

“Bones...shut the fuck up.  Nobody’s gonna eat us, alright?  You’re not making any fucking sense right now.”

They continued walking, round and round and round along the black and white, chess board floor.

“I hate this floor,” Bones said.

“Me too, Bones.  Me too.”

“How long we been walking, Jim?”

“I don’t know.  Chron’s inoperative on my comm.  Feels like forever.”

“I can’t hear our footsteps anymore.”

“Me neither.”

 “Jim?”

“Yeah, Bones?”

“Spock is having sex, right at this very second, huh?”

“I guess so, Bones.  What about it?”

“With some stranger.  That they picked out for him.  Out of two thousand Vulcans they found somebody for him to fuck.”

“Yep.”

“That doesn’t bother you?”

“Why should it?  He has to have sex.  Continue his species or whatever.  Not like he has any choice in the matter.”

They walked some more.

“I know,” Bones replied as they made their way.  “Just thought--since you and he had gotten so close--”

“We’re friends, Bones.  And, I’ve fucked plenty of strangers and it wasn’t a life or death situation.  Okay?”

“So after this, Spock is gonna be a daddy.  He’s supposed to mate, make a baby?  Wonder what Uhura thinks about all of this.  Do you think she’s happy about it, Jim?”

“I don’t know.  Stop obsessing about it.  You’re freaking the shit out of me.  Keep going.”

“We just keep walking around and around and around and around and around and--”

“What’s the matter with you, Bones?”

“It’s pointless.”

“It’s not pointless, Bones.”

They kept walking silently for more long moments.  Then the light suddenly lowered further to near darkness.  

Suddenly Jim felt something...flesh...warm, hot fingers grazing his hand, almost a caress, running down to his wrist.  The sensation was electrical, sending a jolt down to his--  “Bones?”

“Yeah, Jim?” The doctor’s voice was entirely too far away.   The sensation abruptly ceased.

“Were you...were you holding my hand?”

“What?  No!”

“You sure about that, Bones?”

“Absolutely positive, Jim.”

“Alright, alright.  Just making sure.”  If it wasn’t Bones, then the sensation had to be simply his imagination.  Jim took a deep breath.  “This is ridiculous.  Let’s head back to our rooms.  If we aren’t hopelessly lost.”

“And Spock eventually finds our skeletons in the corner.  When he’s done fucking his brains out, that is.”

“Shut up.” Jim snickered a little and realized the doctor was just scared shitless, mouthing off like this.  Being an idiot.  Just fucking terrified, as usual.

*

They made it back to their rooms astoundingly fast.  

“Amazing,” Bones mused.  “It’s almost as if those goddamned, invisible Vulcans were reading our minds.  Adjusting the corridors.”

“They’re not adjusting the corridors, Bones.  That would be crazy.”

“But not unheard of.”

“They’re Vulcans, Bones.  They’re our friends.  They’re entirely too logical for deceptive crap like that.”  Jim stopped at Bones’ doorway.  “You rest up.  We’ll try again later on. There’s a way out, we just haven’t found it yet.  Okay?”

“Alright, Jim.”

*

McCoy pulled his tunic and undershirt up and over his head, sat down on the plinth/bunk...oh wow, comfy (not)...removing his boots and socks.  He dropped the shirts onto the bed, stood up again and unfastened and removed his trousers and underwear, letting that fall onto the chessboard floor.  

He shivered a little, goose bumps forming on his arms.  Seemed unnaturally cold. Didn’t Vulcans prefer the heat?  Maybe this temperature was for the ‘feeble human’s benefit’ but it was a little too chilly.  He checked the wall for a temp guage, something he could adjust.  Nothing.  Alright fine.  

He padded into the bathroom, the tiles under his feet feeling like ice-cubes.  He noted the really plush orange towel hanging on the silver rod.  Huh.  Odd.  Well, at least it wasn’t a red towel.  This austere, tiny, freezing room contrasted with a nice, large, gorgeous green and white tiled bathroom, didn’t make any fucking sense, but whatever, he could use a nice hot water shower, it would loosen up his tight, tense muscles.   

He turned it on, diving his hand experimentally into the spray falling from the chrome-like shower head.  Nice and warm just like he liked it.  Almost heavenly. Better than on the ship.  Oh and yeah, he was gonna take a long one, fuck ‘em.  Desert planet probably had to ration this shit, didn’t appear to be any at all precipitation, nor a well, nor an underground water mining facility nearby or any osmosis, but he could be wrong, he’d seen the planet for all of ten minutes--but hell he was using the goddamned water.  

Damn Vulcans and this crazy ass chessboard floored, creepy facility.

He got into the shower, closing the curtain behind him.  He leaned his head back in the water, shutting his eyes, soaping himself up.  

But Something, something made him slide back the curtain and look.

He gasped.  

It was Spock.  Spock?  Standing in front of him, completely nude.  Staring at him.  Sporting an erection.  _What the fuckl?_   McCoy found himself blinking at it then looked up into the Vulcan’s eyes.  Primal.  

A chill traveled down his spine.

“Spock?” he asked. “What are you...what are you doing here?”  He was more worried than angry and flicked another glance down again at that huge erection.  Something was wrong, very wrong and Spock needed medical attention.  “Hang on a moment...” He turned back to the shower, shutting it off.  

When he turned back seconds later, Spock was gone.

He hurried out of it.  “Spock?  Spock?!”

No one there.  He ran through the bathroom into the bedroom, also nobody there. He opened his door and looked out into the carnivirious corridor both ways.  No one.  

Goddammit, he’d been imagining things, that’s all.  

He wondered if he should go pester Jim, tell the captain what he saw, but thought better of it.  Spock, nude in his bathroom with a boner?  Jim would laugh him off the face of the planet.  

He shut the door.

Since he was still full of soap, he marched back into the bathroom, and quickly rinsed himself off.  The shower didn’t seem as nice, anymore.  

He left the shower, grabbed the orange, fluffy towel and went into the bedroom.  He raised up the towel, drying his hair.  He moved to dry his back and glanced over--

There, on the nightstand, on a silver tray, sat a glass pitcher, filled with a pink liquid, accompanied by a tall drinking glass.

It hadn’t been there before.

Someone had dropped it off while he was in the bathroom?  That vision of Spock...just a vision...he hadn’t heard anyone come in.  Maybe someone beamed it in?  That had to be it.

He went over to it, still drying off.

The liquid, which looked to be merely some type of juice was filled with various, unrecognizable cut fruits floating at the top.  Ah, the Vulcans provided him with some refreshment and not a moment too soon.  He was thirsty and all it was missing was a goddamned umbrella.  

He smiled a little.  The pink juice made the room seem a little festive, like he really was on vacation. He snickered at the silly visual of a gaggle of stone-faced Vulcans lying around the swimming pool on lounge chairs, drinking this stuff.

He wrapped his towel around his waist, picked up the pitcher to pour the concoction into the glass, but hesitated a moment. What if it contained alcohol? He hadn't had a drink in months.  Hadn’t needed any damned anti-ol hypo to cure him of any addiction, hadn’t needed to enter in any program. He had been able to quit cold turkey and that was it. 

He sniffed the liquid.  Smelled like juice.  Should be alright.  Vulcans didn’t drink booze anyway--Jim had said so.  

He shrugged and poured himself a glass, then took a sip. 

He reeled as he immediately tasted Earth style Vodka or something similar.  The hard stuff.  The effects hit him instantly. What the hell?  He must be imagining things.  It was only juice.  Couldn’t be booze.

He went over to his tri-corder.  Damned thing still wouldn’t operate, no matter what button he pushed the screen remained completely black.  Only thing it was good for was a doorstop.  Dammit.  He slammed it down, turning back to the drink.  Tri-corder or no tri-corder, there wasn’t any booze in this juice, couldn’t be, just tasted like there was and his brain was confused and thinking it was booze.  Simple placebo effect.

He took another longer sip.  He froze. There _was_ booze in this.  He knew the taste and there was no denying the effect of alcohol.

He should pour this shit down the fucking drain right now.  Should go get himself a glass of water instead.

But...One little glass of this stuff wouldn't hurt. That's all he'd have, one glass and he'd pour the rest of the pitcher down the drain. 

Consider it a delicious emollient to make dealing with this hell-hole a little easier.

_____________

On to chapter 5 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

Jim padded into the bathroom, nude, his bare feet making little slapping sounds on the tile.  He hadn’t had the chance to make use of this shower yet, he was eager, but he’d make it quick, just to freshen up.  

He wished he had something else to put on afterwards besides his sweaty uniform, maybe he should have brought a change of clothing--but how was he supposed to have known this would turn into a longer visit than anticipated?

He reached over and turned on the shower.

As he’d clambered into the tub, under the warm water spray, he could have sworn he’d felt a caress down his back. Warm fingers, sliding all the way to the cleft of his ass.  

He shivered at the sensation.  Then turned around.

Nobody there. Couldn’t be. It would have been irrational to think otherwise and Bones sure as hell wouldn’t have snuck in here to feel him up.  Would he?  (and why was he thinking about Bones at a time like this?)

Simply his imagination. 

He remembered that one time in San Diego, on a weekend leave from the academy, he and Bones driving down and staying in that haunted (supposedly) hotel.  They'd shared a room.  In that hotel bathroom, he’d felt a similar phantom sensation of being touched, a caress.  When he'd mentioned it to Bones, the man told him he was an idiot.  Didn't believe in silly ghosts.

Ghost or no ghost, Jim noted his body responding to the touch--just like that other time in that hotel--the tingling, like it had been real.

Well, now that he was aroused--and God, was he ever horny, how long had it been since he'd--he could jack off really quick, no harm in it.

He soaped himself up, then slid his hand down his chest to his belly, past the V of his hips, gravitating lower and lower, past his pubic hair and further down.  

His eyes drifted shut as his fingers circled his cock.  He tilted his head back. 

Already he was close.

Suddenly, he gasped...felt like...it felt like someone was blowing him!  Unmistakably, it was like a mouth around his cock.  Sucking.  Mmmm.  Goddamn.  Didn’t feel like his hand.  Didn’t feel like sex with a woman or another man.

He opened his eyes.  Nobody down there.  Of course there wouldn’t be.  To think otherwise would be ridiculous.  It was only his own hand.

He closed his eyes again. 

The sensation of being sucked on returned.  

“ _Mmmmph.._.” His own voice, out loud, but he started at it all the same.  

He opened his eyes again, looked down, still no one there.  

He closed them again.

Now it felt like a tongue running over the head of his cock... _ohhhh_....

He opened his eyes, yet again and once again it was only his own hand on his cock.  

Damned odd.  But holy hell it felt fantastic--

As hard and as achy as he was-- leaking pre-come and covered in soap--he released his hold on his own dick, letting his hands drop to his sides.  Just to see what would happen.

He closed his eyes.

And the sensation returned.  He resigned himself and let it happen.

Seconds later he was coming hard, harder than he had in a long while, down the phantom lover’s throat.  

Wow...fucking wow.

*

“Bones!” Jim shouted through the the doctor’s door.

Finally, after the third knock and what seemed like an eternity, the man opened up.  “Well...hello.  Jim.”  The doctor was clad in only his underwear, blocking the way with his body, putting a hand between the door and frame.

Jim smiled.  “You’ve certainly made yourself comfortable.”

“Why not?” 

There was a few seconds of awkward silence.  Jim blinked at him.  “May I come in?”

“Sure.”  Bones stepped aside to allow him through.  

“Get dressed, we’re going on another mission.  Gotta find our way out of here.”

Bones groaned as he flopped face down on his bed.  “Again?”

Jim folded his arms.  “Yes, Bones.”  

Bones flipped back over and sat up, casually grabbing a drinking glass off the nightstand as he did so.  The glass was half filled with some type of pink liquid from a nearby pitcher.  

“What’s that?” Jim asked.

“Huh?  This?  Oh....just...some juice.” Bones took a sip.  “Mmmm, tasty.”

“Where’d you get it from?”

“Didn’t you bring it in?”

“No.”

“Oh.”  Bones took another sip.  “Probably the Vulcans, then.  You didn’t get any?”

“You saw a Vulcan?”

“Nope.”  Bones took another long gulp from his glass till it emptied.  He leaned over to the pitcher.

“Not gonna share your festive beverage, Bones?”

“I uh--” Bones shrugged.  “Don’t have another glass.”

“There’s a water glass in my bathroom.  I’ll be right back.”  Jim turned on his heel, went across the hall.  He fetched the glass and quickly re-entered Bones’ room.  

But the doctor had already poured the remainder of the liquid from the pitcher into his own glass, busily taking more gulps.  The pitcher sat on the floor, now empty.

“Bones.”  Jim waved his own empty glass.

“Oh.  Did you want some?” Bones grinned wickedly.  “Sorry, Jim.”

“I told you I did.”  Jim picked up the pitcher and sniffed it.

“It’s fruit juice, Jim.  Just like I told ya, alright?”

Jim set the pitcher down on the nightstand and eyed the doctor warily.  “Thought maybe it might have been....”

“Been what, Jim?  What?”

“Smells okay.”

“Smells like juice, doesn’t it, Jim.”

“Yeah, but you’re acting like you’re--”

“Like what, Jim?” Bones snapped.  “What?”

Jim shook his head.  “Nothing.  Never mind.  Hurry up and get dressed.  I’ll meet you in the corridor in five minutes.”

Bones saluted him, albeit dismissively.  “Sure thing.”

*

“How long’s it been Jim?” McCoy wanted to know as they walked.

“I dunno, hours.  Feels like it.”

“And yet, Captain sir, we’re still going round and round and round and round in this place.”

“I’m not giving up, Bones.  There has to be some offices around here.  Vulcans monitoring things.”

Bones snorted.  “Vulcans monitoring things!”

“What?”

“Listen to you: ‘Monitoring things’.  

“You know," Jim said, "the way this place is laid out reminds me of an ancient Elizabethan maze.”

“Like a hedge maze?”

“Uh huh.  But at least with a hedge maze we could cut or phaser our way out--if we had to.”

“And start an interplanetary war by destroying their maze,” Bones scoffed.

“The Vulcans wouldn’t start a war, Bones.  What’s gotten into you?  Besides, Starfleet would pay for any damage, I guess.”

Bones reached out and slid two fingers along the wall.  “The material feels solid and indestructible, so the point is moot.  The Vulcans don’t want us to get out of here.  Ever.”

“Vulcans are not our enemy.  This place is just for Spock to do his thing and then leave, that’s all.”

“So why couldn’t he have done it in like...a luxury hotel or something?  Someplace comfortable?  Why all the theatrics?”

“Maybe where he’s at, it’s comfortable.”  

Bones suddenly stopped.  “Wait a minute.  We don’t need breadcrumbs.  We need a ball of string or thread.  This is a labyrinth.”

Jim swung around.  “Labyrinth?”

“Yeah.  Remember your ancient Greek mythology.” Bones broke out into a creepy grin and hissed in a equally sinister voice:  “ _The... labyrinth... keeps the... minotaur in_.”

“Minotaur?  Here?  That’s crazy.”

“Is it?”  Bones gasped or hiccuped then coughed or something to that effect.  “Poseidon became angry with Minos. Something about a sacrifice.  Minos kept a sacrifice intended for the god, for himself.  In retaliation, Poseidon made Minos’ wife fall madly in love with a bull.  The offspring of their lovemaking was a cross breed creature called the minotaur.  Half human, half bull.  So...it had the head and tail of a bull and the head of a man.  The minotaur was captured and locked in the labyrinth.  Every year for nine years, seven maidens were locked in the labyrinth for the beast to feed upon.”

“What’s that got to do with anything, Bones?”

The doctor rolled his eyes and let out an odd little giggle.  “Spock.”

“Spock?  What about him?”

“Half human, half Vulcan?”  Bones motioned.  “Y’know!”

“The minotaur is mythical, Bones.  Spock’s humanoid, not a bull and--”

“He’s Vulcanoid.  And right now, thanks to _pon farr_ , he’s a fucking monster...the beast that feeds on virgins.”

“Spock’s not a fucking monster, okay?  Knock it off.”

“I’m not so sure, Jim.”

They walked for a few more moments before Jim halted.  “How do you know this?  You find out something?”

“Why are we trapped in a labyrinth?” Bones said, eyes growing as large as saucers.  “Huh?  Huh, Jim?”

“Stop it.  This isn’t a labyrinth.  And we aren’t trapped.”

“Come on, Jim.  Look at his place.”

“You just keep telling yourself that, Bones.”

“I will.  It’s true.  Why don’t you see it?”

Jim looked at the CMO for a few moments, then decided to play along.  “If Spock had turned into a minotaur and was after us in this labyrinth and we were trapped, well, I’m not a virgin.  Are you, Bones?” he teased.

“Huh?  No.”

“You sure?”

Bones flashed him an odd--and if he didn't know the man better--lustful look.  “I’m positive, Jim.”

“Well then, we’re safe, right?”  He reached over and patted the physician on the arm.  “Spock has his own maiden to feast upon.  He doesn’t need us!"  Joking over, in all seriousness he said:  "Knock it off, I mean it.” 

Bones didn’t answer him but appeared to freak out for a few moments, breathing heavily.  

Jim grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him.  “Come on, Bones!  I need you to calm down, that’s an order.  There’s no such thing as a minotaur.  And Spock is Spock.  He’s a little fucked up right now but he’s no monster.  He’s having fun, humping his brains out.  Alright?  You need to calm--”

“I’m calm, Jim.  Perfectly.” Bones cocked an eyebrow.  “See?  Perfectly calm.  I know Spock’s not a minotaur.  Not literally."

"Well," Jim said.  "Good.  Glad to hear you agree with me."

"Labyrinths are traps for malevolent spirits, you see?” Bones said, barely audible and now far, far too calm.  “They’re used by mystics to help achieve a contemplative state.  Walking among the turnings, one loses all direction, just as we have.  Quieting the mind.  Is your mind, quieted, Jim?”

“No.”  Jim let his hands drop.  “Labyrinths are illogical.”  He walked a few steps, then called back behind him.  “Come on!”

*

 _how unfortunate.  how unfortunate.  how unfortunate._  

*

They walked for quite awhile longer before Bones piped up:  “Sleeping Beauty.”

“What about her, Bones?  I suppose you’re gonna tell me there’s something sinister about that fairy tale?”

“There is.  Don’t you know?” 

Jim shook his head.  “No.”

“You watch entirely too much Disney,” Bones replied.

“Sleeping Beauty?” Jim shot back.  “I'll tell you about fucking sleeping beauty, Bones."

"No need to get angry, Jim."

"She pricks her finger and falls asleep and then the handsome prince kisses her and wakes her up and they live happily ever after.  How is that sinister?”

“He doesn’t wake her up with a kiss.”

“What do you mean?”

“He marries and then rapes her while she’s still asleep.  She gets pregnant and gives birth to twins... while she’s still asleep and only wakes up when one of the babies mistakes her finger for a nipple and sucks out the cursed piece of flax that got imbedded there when she touched the cursed spindle.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“Then the mother in law wants to eat the kids--”

“Like a cannibal?”

“--but Sleeping Beauty substitutes a fish.  Then she worries about keeping them from crying and alerting the mother in law.”

“What is it with you and the cannibalism, Bones?"

Bones shrugged back.

"What version is this?” Jim asked.

“Italian.”

Jim sighed.  “When we get back to the ship you’re submitting to a psych exam.”

Bones held up a hand.  “I’m telling you, it’s true.”

“What does this have to do with being in a labyrinth?”

“Everything,” Bones whispered.

*

_...they will think they are at the finish but their way will be bent round and they will find themselves at the beginning and just as far from that which they were seeking at first...._

*

“Look!” Jim pointed.  A light.  In the distance.  It was striking against the near darkness that surrounded them. 

They ran towards the light and stopped in front an old fashioned heavy wooden door. It sported a brass-like doorknob and hinges.  The light streamed out of the spaces where the wall and floor didn’t quite meet up to it.  

“Finally.  We found something.”  Jim put his hand on the knob, turned it.

Bones's hand shot out, grabbing Jim's wrist.  “Don’t.”

“Bones,” Jim warned but halted.

“Bluebeard.”

“Bluebeard?”

“Yeah, Jim.  Ever heard of the story?”

Jim slowly released the knob.  He withdrew his hand and turned to his chief medical officer.  “I’m almost afraid to ask.”

“You should be.  A nobleman marries a woman.  He has to leave the castle for awhile.  The new bride has to stay behind.  He gives her the keys.  Tells her she can open every door but one.  Tells his bride don’t ever open that door.  Don’t ever go inside that room, under any circumstances. She vows not to.  He goes away and leaves the castle in her care.  Of course, curiosity overtakes her.  She enters the room and discovers the horrible secret:  Its floor is awash with blood.  The murdered bodies of her husband’s former wives hang from hooks--”

“Bones!”

“I’m not finished, Jim.  Horrified, she drops the key in the blood.  She picks up the key and flees the room but the blood won’t wash off.  She reveals the secret to her sister and both plan to flee the castle the next day.  Bluebeard comes home unexpectedly.  He notices the blood on the key and realizes his new bride has broken her vow.  He wants to kill her, but she begs for a half an hour to say her prayers--”

“Enough, Bones!  That’s an order.”

He turned back to the door, putting his hand on the knob.  

He turned it. 

“Jim...” Bones actually whimpered.  Jim ignored him.

The door creaked as it opened up. 

Inside appeared to be a....  

“What the--?”  They stood at the now open doorway, gazing inside.  It appeared to be a small Earth style Medieval prayer chapel, or as he’d seen in old images.  Six wooden pews, grouped in threes, on either side of a small aisle. The floor was the same black and white marble-like floor that lay in the rest of this structure (okay, this labyrinth).  An altar was situated at the front, covered by a delicate lace runner.  Stunningly beautiful, multi-colored stained glass windows lined the walls.  

Jim gasped at the sight.  Most notably, the altar and surrounding sides were lit with hundreds of flickering white candles.  Small statues were situated among the candles. 

And more importantly, behind the altar, on the wall, was a huge wooden cross, complete with a figure nailed to it, covered only by a loincloth, wearing a crown of thorns.   Red liquid, obviously supposed to look like blood, flowed from the many wounds.  

“Holy hell,” Bones whispered.

Jim yanked his phaser off his belt and held it at the ready, Bones mirroring him.  They inched further inside. 

The chapel proved completely devoid of any living, breathing beings except for them.

“Crucifix,” Bones breathed out, transfixed.  “That thing is huge!”  And it was a graphic crucifix, grotesque, the face of the figure, the victim, Jesus... contorted in agony.    

As they moved further inside, creeping along the black and white floor, Jim couldn’t help the hairs standing up on his neck.  “Bones?”

“Yeah?”

“What is a Roman Catholic Medieval prayer chapel doing inside a Vulcan labyrinth?”

“Well, labyrinths symbolize a path to God,” Bones said softly as he went to the very first wooden pew and slumped down in it.  “One aims towards the center, which is a representation of a sacred ancestor, a deity.  There is one entrance, which symbolizes birth.”  

Jim glanced up, scanning the ceiling and sides.  “Windows.”  

He aimed the phaser at one of them and fired.  Nothing happened.  He checked it, the phaser appeared fully drained.

“Bones.” The doctor handed over his phaser.  Empty.  “Damn.”

He searched the room for something lying around, any artifacts or anything loose he could tear off and use as a decent projectile.  He noticed an object sitting on the altar:  A golden chalice festooned with what appeared to be rubies.  He made a beeline towards it, picked it up, hefted it, it felt heavy enough to do some real damage.  He aimed towards the stained glass window.

“Jim! Don’t! Please don’t!” 

He paused...that had...almost sounded like...Spock’s voice.  

But, no, it had been simply been Bones pleading with him, waving his arms.  “Don’t Jim.”

He sighed and finally set the chalice back down.  He walked to the first pew and sat down next to the doctor, sighing and rubbing his face.  “Why’d you stop me?”

“Because it’s...wrong.”  Bones rested his chin in his hands, on the wood in front of him. "You really want to damage the stained glass? The cute little lamb and lion? That's magnificent craftsmanship."

They sat in silence, taking in the scene, the flickering of the multitude of candles. And back to Jesus. And the stained glass. And the candles.  The sight proved beautiful even if it was macabre.

Jim glanced over and suddenly noticed a narrow wooden door on the side.  “Another room.”  He got up to investigate.  

“No, no, no,” Bones called over, continuing to sit in the pew.  “It’s only a confessional, Jim.”

Jim went over to the door, opened it.  A tiny closet, replete with a cushion to kneel on.  Jim closed the door.  He came back over to Bones and sat down.

“Did you confess your sins, Jim?”

Jim sighed.

“I remember once when I was little,” Bones continued, “First time I ever stepped foot into a Catholic church.  I was appalled at sight of that crucifix.  It was the worst thing I’d ever seen in my life, up until that point.  It was like a nightmare.  Blood running down from poor Jesus‘ wounds.  I was traumatized.  The red, oh my God, the red....”

“That’s because you’re a Baptist, Bones.”

“I haven’t been to church since I was little.  This crucifix here, looks exactly like that one.  How I remember it.”

“This chapel can’t be real."

“Hallucination?”

“If it is, I don’t know why we would be hallucinating this.”

“Projection?”

Jim knocked on the pew.  “Pretty damned solid for a projection.”

“Maybe it is real, Jim.”

“Why?  The Vulcans wouldn’t have a chapel simply for the symbolism.  It would be illogical.  No, they must use this for something.  Prayer?  Mass?  Why would Vulcans celebrate a Roman Catholic Mass?  Catholicism is an Earth religion. These candles and the crucifix and the stained glass and the altar and the confessional and the chalice and the pews. I don’t get it.  Why?  This room serves no logical purpose.”

“Meditation chamber,” Bones suggested.

“Why in this particular style?”  

“Maybe the Vulcans are students of Medieval Earth history? Earth religions?  Maybe they appreciate the beauty.  The serenity.  Maybe the older Spock built this chapel to meditate in.  Though I can’t see why, I wouldn’t even want to pray in this room.  Too creepy.  All we need is some organ music to come wafting in and I’m outta here.” They both chuckled a little at that, before Bones‘ eyes widened.  “Jim?”

“Yeah?”

“Jesus is roughly the same size as we are.  You think--that’s not a real corpse up on that cross, is it?  What if it was?”

“Statue, Bones.  Jesus doesn’t look real.”

Bones stood up.  “Mind if I take a look, Captain?”

Jim waved him up there, thrilled at the fact that Bones seemed to be acting relatively normal once again.  “By all means.”

Bones got closer to the crucifix.  He slowly held out a finger and timidly touched it, on the upper arm, staring at it for long moments.  “Alright.  Only a statue.”

“That’s a relief.”

“Tell me about it.”  Bones glanced down underneath the altar.  “Hmmm.  Interesting.”  He looked up and gave an odd smile.  “Fascinating.”

“What?”

“This.”  The doctor knelt, disappeared from sight, then reappeared, holding up a glass decanter, filled to the top with a liquid.  “Well, at least it ain’t red.”

“What is that?”

“You mentioned something about cannibalism, Jim?”

“Catholics aren’t cannibals,” Jim snapped back.

“Well, in essence they are.”  Bones went over to the altar, took off the lid to the decanter and sniffed it.  He smiled once again. “The miracle of transubstantiation.  You start out with ordinary wine, then you say ‘this is my blood’.”  The doctor indicated with his thumb at the crucifix.  “And lo and behold, it is.”

Jim watched him.  Then quickly stood up when Bones poured a generous measure of the pink liquid into the chalice.  “Bones, what do you think you’re doing?”

“What, Jim?”

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing at all.”

“Is that booze?”

“Nope.”

“That’s booze--you said it was wine.”

“It’s not booze.”

“That liquid could be harmful to humans-- you can’t even scan it, what you doing?”

Bones closed his eyes, held up the chalice and whispered: “ _She begs for a half an hour to say her prayers..._ ”  He placed it to his mouth.

“Don’t drink it, Bones!  That’s an order.”

_Clang. Clang._

_Clang. Clang._

_Clang. Clang._

Jim spun around.  

A toy monkey, about a foot high, was sat on the black and white floor, bashing together a pair of shiny brass cymbals. 

_Clang. Clang._

_Clang. Clang_.

 _Clang. Clang_.

“Where did that come from?” Jim darted out of the pew, rushed up to it.  He knelt down on the floor and stared at it in amazement.

 _Clang. Clang_.

 _Clang. Clang_.

 _Clang. Clang_.  

Behind him, Bones laughed.  “We ain’t goin’ nowhere, Jim." 

______

On to chapter 6...

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> warning: brief mention of rape in the opening scene.
> 
> Additional warning: HORROR and creepyness ahead for this chapter. Yes I've slapped a warning on here!

CHAPTER 6

_this thing...._

_it/she does not smell as she should...this is an impostor...why this thing...this stranger...this ei’tay’ek..._  
 _she does not emit the sweaty, sweet, go’ehthe, heady, delectable odor of the one he needs..._

_why do they keep the one away from him..._

_why this betrayal..._

_she is stoic as he forces his finger into her sex, pulls it out and sniffs...not the one...not the one why is this not the one..._

_...her mind does not feel like the one..._

_still it is amusing to bat this thing around for now...make it scream... bloody her and play with her... impede her egress...probe the mind again and again... this ei’tay’ek must suffer for the impostor she is... she is desperate to get away...she rattles the door...feeble attempt to make it budge...she cannot escape....she will not....she must atone for what she has done...aithe’ke lathe’ shi’eithe’ kai’theara..._

*

He brought the chalice to his mouth, tipping it up, gobbling down the delightful liquid. All the way. Some trickled along the side of his face, he stuck his tongue out, lapping at it to get everything. Nothing must go to waste. 

_oh it was good and to think he’d spent months avoiding this. what an idiot. never never would he stay away again._

Never a man not to finish what he’d started, he poured another healthy serving of _God’s Blood_ from the glass decanter into the chalice.

_Clang. Clang._

_Clang. Clang._

_Clang. Clang._

From his vantage point he could spy Jim lying flat on his stomach on the black and white floor, the man’s head lolled to one side, completely entranced by the toy monkey. 

When the banging ceased, the captain picked up the toy, turned the silver key, winding it up. Starting it over again. 

And again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and again and--

_Leonard...Leonard...._

_“_ Hmmm?” 

_Are you a good boy?_

He turned and faced Mother Mary, her statue trapped in between a group of flickering candles.  She stood on a world, the serpent of the garden at her feet.  “Not really,” he replied.

_Yes you are. Be a good boy. You want to be a good boy._

He smiled.  "Yes I do."

_Drink it all till it’s gone. You don’t want to upset mommy do you?_

“No, I don’t,” he told her.

_Drink your milk like a good boy._

_“_ I will. I promise. I’ll be a good boy.”

Finally, the liquid was gone, every last drop. 

He set the chalice down on the altar, delicately, gently. He gazed at the crucifix, reaching out to touch it, sliding two fingers down an emaciated, wax thigh. 

He dropped his hand, walked past the altar--having some difficulty--hard to keep his trajectory straight--he staggered. 

He gave up and dropped to his hands and knees and crawled the rest of the distance to Jim. He sat on his haunches, waiting and watching.

“Jim,” he croaked out.

The captain didn’t acknowledge his presence but seemed consumed with the task of winding up the key yet again and setting the monkey down. Over and over. 

_Clang. Clang._

_Clang. Clang._

_Clang. Clang._

No matter.  He shrugged and stood up on shaky legs. He made his way to the confessional, opened the door and went inside. 

Inside was tight, merely a closet... or a coffin. Enough room to fit a man inside and nothing else.  He clambered in, shutting the door behind him, realizing too late that he’d closed himself into complete blackness. He could not see his hands in front of him. 

For long moments his heart raced-- unable to find the light. He felt around him. Overhead, his hand frantically trying to find it, where was it, where was it...where WAS IT...WHERE WAS IT...WHERE WAS IT? 

He tried for the door handle, it wasn’t there, he scrabbled around, feeling the wooden walls-- panicked--

_oh my god... the walls are closing in on me, they’re closing in on me... they’re gonna crush me to death...they're gonna kill me--_

He opened his mouth to scream out, ' _Jim_ ' but no sound would come forth. 

His raised his hand, finally... finally he slapped at the suspended chain. He clamped his fingers around it, yanked it down.  
There was a click and finally a dim light shined from a tiny bulb overhead. Illumination.

He breathed out in relief, panting, wiping his brow.

He kneeled on a soft, brown pillow--at least it wasn’t red-- facing an intricately carved wooden screen, which was covered by a board. Of course it would be covered, there was no priest in residence. Why would there be on a Vulcan colony?

But still he brought his hands together in prayer. Letting out a giggle as he did so.

Baptists didn’t do stuff like this: Confessing their sins to the priest. They didn’t go for ostentatiousness and ‘idol worship‘. The preachers wore a regular black suit. 

Grandpa was the preacher at First Baptist of Old Town Conyers so of course the entire McCoy family attended services every Sunday, everyone--not everyone, most folks in Rockdale County did, things were very traditional back home, same wood frame houses built in 1920, a place where time stood still. Hell there was a goddamned Amish colony living nearby, they’d settled in Conyers back in 2170, driving those black buggies with their beautiful horses, had to swerve around them on the main roads, they hadn’t changed in centuries--so the Baptists in town: the McCoys and the Treadways and the Clanceys and the Hamners and the Kelleys, still showed up every sunday to listen to his grandpa.  
Racing along the back roads to get in the front pews on time--his whole family did, whether they wanted to be there or not. Whether they believed in this stuff, or not.

He himself did not believe. Even as a kid he was a scientist, to him science and faith could not be reconciled. Too much red to look at anyway. Once he’d made the mistake of declaring that fact--church was illogical, science had long disproved God and Jesus and religion to his mother. Age 15. She told all and sundry in the family and according to them he was going straight to hell. And hell’s fire was red. But at least he never went back to church again. He’d won. And grandpa the preacher was long dead.

But he had to admit he’d been fascinated with the Roman Catholics in town and their ways, his family home sat right across the road from a monastery. Every day before he’d jump into his car to college in Lanner’, he’d walk across the two laned road to watch the monks in their morning recess play baseball dressed in their black soutanes enclosed in their tiny field populated with those giant stone statues. He watched them, daily, playing in their yard--goddamn they looked so content, so happy--until one day another monk, an old man, probably the head guy, clad entirely in red, came outside, starring daggers at him. He never went back.

When he'd moved away briefly to attend Med School in Mississippi, he knew he was not a terrible person, but he had done some appalling things. Then he moved back to Rockdale County, got married, did more... appalling things. The break-up of his marriage (his fault) caused a scandal even in this day and age. 

And when those rare times he craved forgiveness-- a long time ago--his feeble, solo praying didn’t seem to be enough. It always felt like God (the entity he’d had to hear about every week in sunday school long ago) that guy hadn’t really forgiven him. 

In an effort to alleviate some of his tremendous guilt and to truly confess, he needed someone sitting there, listening--a spectre clad in a black cossack.  That presence behind the screen, a disembodied voice, hopefully judging him, like he deserved to be judged, harshly, like he was used to. When he fucked up, he fucked up bad--bad enough for 100 people. And the spectre told him so. Separated by a screen.

So on that day when he’d killed his dad--this is exactly what he’d done. Walked out of the hospital and headed for the Jesuit run Catholic church right next door. How fucking convenient.  He’d entered that church, wearing his wrinkled white scrubs with the dried blood splatters, walking down the exact same GODDAMNED BLACK AND WHITE MARBLE FLOOR--he’d seen that same crucifix again with the dripping red blood and he was transported back to the very first time he’d seen it as a kid and of that red. 

The sight had so terrified him that maybe next time he would find the damned cure instead of letting disease take family members. Grandpa the preacher--God hadn’t been able to save him. And dad the physician. Both dead of the same fucking blood disease. The hotshot young doc Leonard McCoy couldn’t save his own fucking father.

And then he hadn’t learned his lesson. To be good. Instead he--

So, really, he deserved to watch Jesus suffer like this and bleed red and confess his sins to the spectre. And these Vulcans must have known that, maybe Spock, that son of a bitch, had dug into his personal file to torture him with this shit, and for what? He didn’t know. But he deserved it.  
Seeing the creepy Jesus on this cross, here and now in this chapel, he knew what he had to do, it was like a sign, come into the closet and confess. Thankfully he was full of liquid courage. And him being a doctor, proficient in memorization and no Catholic and certainly not the greatest Baptist, he knew the words:

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. It has been years since my last confession.”

He grinned--more like a grimace, showing all of his teeth. For not being a catholic or even believing in God, he could fake it with the best of ‘em. 

Suddenly, the partition slid open. He could see through the screen. 

He’d never ever looked before. But now he did. He couldn’t help himself. 

Curiosity was killing the doc, he supposed. He had to look.

He sucked in his breath.

There was the spectre, waiting expectantly, clad in a tidy black cossack.

*

_Clang. Clang._

_Clang. Clang._

_Clang. Clang._

The monkey stopped. Jim reached over, picked up the toy. He turned the key, winding it up again.

_Clang. Clang._

_Clang. Clang._

_Clang. Clang._

*

McCoy slammed the confessional door behind him, noting Jim still sprawled out, staring at the toy.

_Clang. Clang._

_Clang. Clang._

_Clang. Clang._

_Clang. Clang._

He leaned over, pushed the cymbals together, halting them. 

Jim’s head immediately snapped up. “Huh?”

“Didn’t say nothin’.”

Jim gulped and looked around. “What the hell? How long have...I been sitting here...playing with this thing?”

“Dunno.”

He felt Jim's warm hands clamp over his wavering own. “The sound of the cymbals," Jim said in a horrified voice. "It put me in some kind of a trance.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, Jim. It’s only a toy.” 

“We have to get out of of this room. Now. Bones.”

“Call it what it is. Have some respect. It’s a chapel. I kinda like it here. Isn’t it nice?” 

“Bones.”

“Yeah, Jim?”

“Why are you immune to the noise? It doesn’t affect you?”

“Nope.” McCoy shrugged. “Just lucky I guess.”

“Go throw this thing inside the confessional.”

He smirked. “Now, Jim. A monkey toy, clanging its cymbals, inside a Catholic confessional. That would be sacrilege.”

“Bones. This isn’t--.” Jim wiped his brow. “Put the goddamned toy in the confessional. I’m gonna let go of this thing. You don’t let go. I can’t listen to the noise. Carry it over there, put in in. Shut the door. I’ll wait in the corridor, with my hands clamped over my ears, until you do so, got it?”

“Sure Jim. You don’t have to spell it out. I’m not an idiot.”

After a moment, Jim’s gritted his teeth. “Do what I ask of you.”

“Alright. Just give me a minute.”

“Do it now, Bones! I’m going to let go of the cymbals. Don’t let go of them. Do you hear me?”

“I hear ya, Jim.”

“Okay.” Jim released his grasp on McCoy’s hands. 

McCoy immediately dropped the toy onto the floor, allowing it to resume its clanging.

Jim dropped to his knees, then fell over to his side, once again infatuated with the monkey.

“Fascinating,” McCoy breathed.

*

_Fascinating._

He helped himself to more communion wine--thankfully Mother had refilled the chalice. He consumed the entire contents in one gulp.  
Jim, on the other side of the chapel, continued to wind up the monkey, setting it down on the black and white floor, watching it in forced awe.  
The clanging formed a macabre soundtrack as McCoy fingered the white lace runner, rubbing the pattern on his fingers, watching Jim, until the candles just about wound down to nothing--most of them burning out, the odor of wax and inscence thickly pungent in the air.

Needed a pipe organ in here--to accompany that insistant metronome. Fuck.  That would be fantastic.  He stared up at the stained glass, could almost imagine the lion eating that lamb.

Clang clang.

What was it Father told him--absolving him of what he had done, and what he would do--the language was strange, but he could understand, like the translation had appeared in his mind.

_Fascinating._

*

The chalice and the glass decanter both proved disappointingly empty--how did that happen-- he went over to Jim. 

Now it wasn’t so nice in here. Now he was angry. 

He snatched the toy away from that fucking starship captain. He tore the cymbals apart, one flying one way, the other flying the opposite. They clattered when they hit the tiles.

He dropped the silenced toy onto the floor in disgust.

“No....” Jim let out a heart wrenching whimper. “You broke it.”

“Yes, I did!" he began, but softened at Jim's devistated expression.  "Hey...I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“You broke it.”

“I said, I didn’t mean to!” He glowered at the man. “If I say I didn’t mean to, that means, I didn’t mean it. Jim. Understand?”

Jim’s eyes widened. “Yeah. Okay, Bones. Whatever you say.”

“Well, alright then.”

“I had a toy just like this when I was a kid--actually it had been my dad’s...my real dad. It had belonged to his great grandma and passed down through--” He swallowed. “Then one day my stepdad--to punish me--annoyed at the noise or me not doing my chores, I guess--and he was drunk--did the same thing you just did. Ripped the cymbals off. Why? Why did you do that?”

McCoy gritted his teeth. “I was only trying to help.”

“That’s why...” Jim swallowed again. “I wanted you to set it in the confessional, so it wouldn’t get hurt. Y’know?”

“I said I was sorry. Alright? Besides I couldn’t set it in there. The priest is in there.”

Jim gasped.  “The priest?”

“Yeah, Jim. Isn’t that what a confessional is for? To confess your sins to the priest.”

“What priest?” Jim jumped up, went over to the wooden door, opening it up, looking inside. He turned back frantically. “There’s no one in here, Bones. It’s empty. No way anyone could get in there, unless someone beamed in.”

“Oh. Yes." He chuckled.  "Right. Damned right, Jim.”

Jim shut the door and came back into his face. McCoy took a step back. “Was there a priest in there?”

“Nope. I was only kidding.”

“Why would you joke about something like that? Was there someone in there? Bones!”

“Nope.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Bones, look at me. You’re--”

“I didn’t mean to break the toy.”

“I know.”

“I was only trying to help.”

“Yes, Bones. I know. Thank you. Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“Outta here.” Jim offered his hand. “Come on.”

"I don't--"

"Bones, that's an order!  Come on!"

He grasped Jim’s hands and felt himself pulled to the rear of the chapel. He glanced over his shoulder to take one last...longing?...look...at Jesus, hanging so very graphically up there on the cross--

He blinked...the face wasn’t Jesus. Not anymore...

It was now the face of Jim.  Jim...hanging on the cross.

“MMMMooohhhhbhhghghgh!” McCoy yelled out, yanking the captain bodily out of the chapel--slamming the door behind them.

\------

_snap._

_clean and efficient._

\------

“OW! Son of a bitch!” Jim cradled his hand in his other. “You slammed my hand in the fucking door!” he screeched out, his voice reverberating in the narrow corridor. “You slammed my hand in the fucking door! Are you insane?!”

“Shut up, Jim, want the whole fucking universe to hear?  Ya big baby?”

“You idiot!” Jim hissed back to the recalcitrant physician.

Bones sighed. “I’m sure it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine. It hurts! You asshole.”

“Stop calling me names, Jim.” McCoy flashed him a downright frightening glance, it chilled Jim’s heart and he stopped. “Let me see your hand.”  
Dizzy from the throbbing, excruciating pain, Jim finally held it up for examination. 

Bones pursed his lips. “Stop whining. Only a simple dislocation of your thumb.”

“Simple? How the hell do you know, you might have broken it. Your scanner, tri-corder doesn’t work.”

“Jim,” Bones muttered as he kept looking. “Don’t insult my intelligence.” He motioned to the socket sticking up through the skin. “Hold still.”  
Jim pulled his hand away. “You’re gonna numb it first, aren’t you?”

“Sure, Jim. If that’s what you want.”

“If you don’t numb it--”

Bones smiled. “You’re gonna squeal like a pig.” 

“Stop acting like a creep and get your hypo out of that damn hip bag before I do it for you.”

Without breaking eye contact, Bones reached down and unfastened the bag. “I’d like to see you try.”

“Don’t test me, Bones.”

Bones slipped the hypo out and held it up before frowning at it. He wacked the metal tube against his palm before looking at it again and swearing under his breath.

“What is it?”

“You are out of luck, Jim. The hypo is malfunctioning.” The doctor demonstrated by depressing it on his own hand. “See? Nothing.”

“That’s odd. Damned odd. Phaser, tricorder and communicators, inoperative. Now a hypo?”

“Damnedest thing. Looks like I’m gonna have to hurt you.”

“You mean, ‘again’. You’re gonna have to hurt me again.”

“Give me your hand.”

Jim gulped and hesitated before he held it up. “What are you gonna do?”

“You know for a starship captain you are the biggest infant I’ve ever known in my entire life--”

“Bones....”

“In pain, Jim?”

“I’m gonna fucking pass out, it hurts so bad.”

“Jim,” McCoy said as he caressed Jim’s thumb with his own. Then, unbelievably, the doctor broke out into song: “Who’s got the pain when they do the mumbo? Who’s got the pain when they do the mumbo? Is there a doctor in the house, when they go ‘Ahhh!” With a quick, hard jerk he pulled on the digit, forcing the thumb back into its socket.

“OWWW!” Jim echoed as he blinked away tears. He yanked his hand away, bringing it up to his lips.

“What are you, three years old?” Bones actually tutted at him. “Don’t suck your thumb, Jim.”

“It still hurts,” Jim mumbled.

“Hey, Jim.”

“Huh?”

“You know what happens to little boys who suck their thumbs?”

Jim shook his head.

“The taylor comes and cuts off your thumb with a giant pair scissors,” Bones told him. “All you’re left with is a stump where your thumb should be. And blood comes rushing out of your wound, leaving a puddle on the floor, and no doctor around like me to save you. And then. You die.”  
Jim pulled the thumb out of his mouth, leaving a trail of spit. “What?”

“Struwpplepeter.”

“Struwpplepeter?”

“Ever heard of it?”

“No.”

"Old German Book of Nursery Rhymes.  Still doesn't ring a bell?"

"Okay, vaguely."  Jim watched uneasily as Bones replaced the dud hypo in his bag, humming entirely too happily and downright inappropriately for the situation. Not to mention the man’s breath reeked of booze. “You are the creepiest drunk I’ve ever known. How much wine did you suck down, Bones?” 

Bones ignored the question. “Don’t move your thumb around too much.”

“Just gonna leave it like this?”

“Be patient.” Bones looked up and chuckled. “Patient.”

“Yeah, Bones, real funny.”

“Relax, Jim.”

“Bones, I’m in--”

“Shhhh,” Bones hushed. He dug into his medical bag again and drew out a flat wooden stick. “Tongue depressor.”

“Great.”

Bones snapped it in half, applied it to the appendage, then used what appeared to be simple medical tape to wrap it all up. Apparently, his usual supplies, like a spray on bandage were also inoperative. “How’s that?”

"Okay, I guess," Jim said, grimacing.

"Now it sticks out like a sore thumb," Bones said, giggling like a madman.

Jim stared down at his still throbbing thumb, encased in it's field splint. “I think we’re done for the day. Let’s get back to our... accommodation. I’m hungry and tired. And you--” He stopped himself. “You could use some sleep.”

Bones waved him along with an exaggerated flourish, saying in a bizarre tone of voice: “Gonna need some ice on that hand, Captain. Wonder if they have ice, on Nu-Vulcan? Think they have shit like that, Jim? Ice?”

“Let’s get going.”

"Kinda hot, here.  Like we're in hell.  Maybe if hell freezes over, we'll get some ice, huh, Jim?"

"Shut the fuck up, Bones.  Let's go."

“After you, Captain sir.”

*

“It’s taking too long to get back to our rooms,” Jim mused, rubbing his head. Confusion and dizziness tried to take hold in his mind as they walked, stealing up like a phantom. He managed for the time being to keep it at bay--his thumb still throbbed and most likely his glucose levels were dropping--hadn’t eaten in forever--maybe he should mention his condition to Bones, the doctor seemed most like himself when he was fussing over the captain--

And less like himself when he came out with shit like:

“Jim.”

“Yeah?”

“We don’t have much time.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothin’.”

Jim stopped him. “What do you mean by that? Bones? Report.”

“I meant that you’re probably getting hungry. Right?”

“Sure. Right.” They walked some more.

At one point Jim looked on, amused, while Bones paused to scribble some graffiti with what appeared to be white chalk: A figure of a man with a phallic shaped nose, hiding behind a wall with the inscription: ‘Kilroy was here.’ Where Bones had found the writing implement, he didn't know.

“Kilroy,” Jim said. “Dates back to World War II.” 

Bones just grunted back.

Walking some more, the doctor grew sullen, much too quiet. Brooding.

To keep the man talking Jim prompted: “Hey, tell me another one of your freaky fairy tales. How about another cannibalism story? Cinderella eating her step-mother?”

“I’m not casting pearls before swine, Jim.”

“Ohhhh, come on.” He patted the doc on the back.

“Watch your thumb. Besides, Cinderella didn’t eat her step-mother, alright? That would be ridiculous. But I’ll tell you what did happen in the original. The two step-sisters chopped off their heels and toes off to try to fit their feet into that glass slipper.”

“Jesus. Does that ever speak of desperation.”

“They really wanted that handsome prince, I suppose. Willin’ ta pay the price,” Bones drawled out.

“So by the time Cinderella got to try it on the glass slipper--”

“It was all...bloody and disgusting.”

“Yikes. You ever scare your daughter with that crap?”

Bones didn’t respond-- wasn’t looking at him, rather off in the distance. He whistled. “Would you look at that.”

Jim stared hard in the near darkness at where Bones was pointing. “What?”

“A goddamned pipe organ.”

“Pipe organ? A what?”

“Last one over there is a festering pile of Eglassian Eel guts.” Bones took off in a sprint.

“Nice Bones, nice.” Jim followed him till they abruptly stopped in front of an alcove, which when they came right on top of it, housed a pipe organ. Huge gleaming brass (or what appeared to be brass) pipes, the wooden organ itself boasted a layer of five keyboards, complete with a row of foot pedals.

“Pipe organ, Jim.” Bones ran his finger along the top row of keys. “Beautiful.”

“Thing looks 1000 years old.”

“Might nigh, Jim.”

“What’s this doing here?" Jim demanded. "How in the hell did you see this thing from way back there?”

“I dunno. Good eyesight. I ‘spose.” Bones sat down on the wooden bench and began taking off his boots.  “Need to feel the pedals, with ma’ feet.”

“You don’t play.” Jim eyed the man. “Bones, you don’t play.”

Bones chucked one boot over his shoulder, then the next before sliding off his socks. 

“Don’t touch it, Bones. That’s an order.”

Bones turned around on the bench, flipping on a switch. “It’s here for us. Sit down, Jim.” 

“I’ll stand. How do you know it’s here for us?”

The organ seemed to be warming up; a hum began to emit from it.

Bones pushed in a couple controls on the side. 'Stops' he remembered they were called.  It was crazy, Bones appeared to know exactly what he was doing. He began to play a tune, an ancient one Jim recognized as: Bach’s ‘Toccata and Fugue’. Jim stared open mouthed as Bones played the base notes with his feet on the foot pedals. There was no other instrument he knew of where someone had to play using hands and feet in this manner--and Bones played like a prodigy.

The doctor turned his head and smiled at him. Combined with the eerie tune, this was--

Like a flash he leapt on Bones, the music abruptly cut off as he pushed him off the bench and propelled the both of them to the floor. Before he could stop himself he straddled the man, pinning his hips. He rared back his right fist (his good hand) and punched him on the mouth. 

“Ow!” Bones yelped out. Blood streamed out from his cut lip. “What the fuck are you doing?!”

Jim stayed straddling him. “You don’t play! You don’t play!”

“Yes I do!”

Jim held his hands up. “Oh, shit,” he breathed.

“You didn’t hurt your other hand, did you?”

Jim shook his head. “Do you really play?”

“I minored in music. In college, Jim.”

“You did?”

“Yeah.”

“This place--what’s the matter with us?” He brought his hand to Bones’ lips. Red streamed from the corner. “You’re bleeding.” 

“Of course I am, dumb ass, you hit me hard. You could have knocked my damn teeth out or broken my jaw.”

“Are you okay?”

“Sure.”

“Is there a cloth in your medikit?”

“Yeah.” Bones didn’t bother looking for it, so Jim did, unfastening the bag, digging in, finding a cloth and pressing it to the wound. “I learned to played the organ when I was a kid,” the doctor said, slightly muffled. “We had a pipe organ at church. Used to piss off my grandpa by playing everything under the sun except church hymns. I enjoyed pissing off Grandpa. So fucking much.”

“You rebel.”

“Yeah.”

“I never knew. Never knew you could play this. You never play aboard the Enterprise.”

“Well, excuse me, but we don’t carry a pipe organ aboard ship!”

“Maybe I should put in a fucking requisition!”

“Maybe you should!”

“Spock would be--impressed.”

“The hell he would.”

“No...he would. I never knew you had such musical ability. How long does it take to master such an instrument?”

“Years. There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me.”

“Could have told me.”

“Nah,” Bones said.

Jim shook his head.  “You play. Damn. Beautifully.”

“So why didn’t you let me?”

“Well,” Jim said. “‘Bach’ for one thing.”

“What’s wrong with Bach?”

“A little too creepy, right now.  What else can you play?"

"Anything."  
  
“I can’t believe I just struck a fellow officer.”

“I’m not just a fellow officer, Jim. You’re my best friend and I love you.”  
Jim lifted the cloth away from Bones mouth staring down at the man in shock. The doctor’s features were frozen, but his cheek was spasming.

Oh, Leonard, Baby, it’s only the booze talking, he thought, laughing. The doc never said shit like this.  "Bones," he said.  "That's gonna bruise."

"Ya think?"  Bones' teeth were stained red. “Learn this shit from Spock, huh?”

Jim blinked. “What I did was...inexcusable...put me on report.”

“Fuck no. Too much paperwork.”

They both laughed at that till they suddenly sobered, staying in the same position, staring at each other. ‘like two idiots’ Bones would normally say. And he did, finally deliver: “Well Jim, if your gonna stay here awhile on top of me, straddling my hips, I’m gonna start thinking you wanna make out and I’m gonna play with your ass.” Bones reached around and pinched him hard. 

“Stop it,” Jim said, moving off and settling down next to him. Bones mouth started bleeding again.  Jim replaced the cloth. 

“We’re even now,” Bones said. 

“Yeah.”

“How’s your fucking thumb?”

“Still hurts, you son of a bitch.”

“Should I kiss it better?”

Bones grabbed it before Jim could answer. He held Jim’s thumb to his mouth, kissing it, shutting his eyes as he did. 

Amazingly the pain went away. “Wow, Bones!  It actually worked.”

Bones rolled his eyes.  "Psychological."

“Want me to kiss yours?” Jim offered. “Make it better?” He knew Bones would tell him to ‘fuck off’ like he always did when he teased him like this.

Instead Bones said: “He won’t like it.”

“Who won't?”

“Spock.” McCoy traced his finger along the floor.

“Spock?  Bones, look at me--who won't like it?”

“Uh huh.”

“Spock?  What do you mean, ‘Spock won’t like it’?”

“He won’t.”

“What?  Since when do you care what Spock likes or doesn’t like? Besides, he’s...busy.  Bones...look at me.”

“Try it and see.” Bones looked into his eyes. "Go on.  Try."

Jim narrowed his eyes at the doctor for a moment, then leaned over, planting a kiss very chastely on the lips.

Suddenly, a bloodcurdling scream reverberated along the corridor.

“What was that?” Jim looked up. “That voice. It sounded like Spock.”

“I told you,” Bones whispered. “I told you. Didn’t I tell you?  He doesn't like it at all.”

Something’s wrong.” Jim got to his feet, motioning to Bones to stand. 

Bones didn’t, only rolled over to lounge on one side. “Told you:  The labyrinth keeps the minotaur in.”

_______________

on to the next chapter


End file.
